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CONTENTS
cknowledgements
ntroduction
ummary Storyline
PART 1: CONTEXT AND SETTINGS
The Divine Inspiration
Bloodlines
Cities and City Life in the Rāmāyana
PART 2: PERSONALITIES, EVENTS AND EVENTUALITIES
Vishvāmitra’s Quest
The Making of Vishvāmitra
Ahalyā
The Descent of Gangā
A Twist of Fate
Sahadharmachārini
0 Kinship in Kishkindhā
1 Vāyuputra
2 The Trap of Lust
3 The Difficulty of Being Good
4 Soumitri
5 Rāmo Vigrahavān Dharma
6 Rāma’s Rājya
PART 3: EPILOGUE
7 A Short Note on the Approach to Understanding Itihāsa
8 Shambuka Vadha
9 Forsaken
Notes
lso from the Author
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I bow to Rishi Vālmiki and all Rāma bhaktas who have kept the flame of
Rāma nāma burning in the Indian consciousness.
I express my heartfelt gratitude to my weekend reading group for giving
me the opportunity to dive deep into the Rāmāyana swādhyāya and for the
churn of thoughts the group discussions helped create.
I will remain ever grateful to Ajay Dave and Vikram Abhishek Mall for
taking the time to go through the drafts and providing valuable inputs; to
the team at Bloomsbury—Nitin Valecha, Sanjiv Sarin and Syed Dilshad Ali
—for bringing the book to life; to Hitharth Bhatt for the beautiful sketch of
Shri Rāma; to J.Sai Deepak (JSD) and my brother Sagar Ganatra for being a
constant source of encouragement and motivation.
I also extend my gratitude to all the readers who wholeheartedly
accepted and appreciated my first book Mahābhārata Unravelled: Lesser-
Known Facets of a Well-Known History, thus motivating me to attempt
Rāmāyana Unravelled: Lesser-Known Facets of Rishi Vālmiki’s Epic.
To Praveen Tiwari, I can never offer enough thanks. I owe my foray into
book writing to him.
What to say of Maa, Kavita Ganatra; I am what I am because she is what
she is.
And lastly, I owe it all to my Kanha. He wills, He makes it happen!
!
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Introduction
No epic has moved the consciousness of a billion people like the Rāmāyana
has. No person has invoked the kind of emotions in a billion people like
Rāma has. Ushering in Rāma Rājya has been a romantic ideal cherished by
us Bhāratiyas since times immemorial. In the times of Mughal atrocities,
when no cloud seemed to have a silver lining, the story of Rāma narrated by
our saints kept us going. It was the promise of Rāma Rājya that rallied
people behind Mahātmā Gāndhi in the struggle against the British for
independence. When Yudhishthira was in vanvās, he was upset about
destiny dealing him a raw hand. Rishi Mārkandeya narrated to him the story
of Rāma, giving him hope that courage and perseverance will see him
through the tough times.
Rāma is an ideal son, a great friend, a king like no other, who, like most
of us, had to undergo numerous trials and tribulations in life. But unlike
most of us, he doesn’t crib or complain; he toils through the challenges
thrown at him by life and emerges victorious due to his valour, skill and
resilience. The story of Rāma’s life has found resonance with people across
the length and breadth of Bhāratavarsha. So much so that wherever the
people of this land went, they took Rāma with them—be it to Southeast
Asia more than a thousand years ago, or to the Caribbean, around two
hundred years ago.
In Thailand, the kings are referred to as Rāma to this day. One of the
provinces of Thailand is Ayutthayā, in memory of Ayodhyā. In Jāvā and
Bāli, folk culture and folk art have been significantly influenced by stories
from the Rāmāyana. Performances based on the Rāmāyana continue to
enthral Indonesians even today. In the islands of the Caribbean, people
chanting Rāmcharitmānas and Hanumāna Chalisā are a common sight.
The appeal of the Rāmāyana is such that from the North to the South and
from the East to the West, it has caught the imagination of innumerable
poets and authors, and this is by no means a recent phenomenon. From Jain
scholars to Bhavabhuti and Kamban to Goswāmi Tulsidās, many more have
retold the story of the Rāmāyana in their own language, infusing their own
unique flavour.
In fact, this prolificity has led to confusion about the ‘original’
Rāmāyana. A.K. Rāmanujan’s essay ‘Three Hundred Rāmāyanas’ sparked a
debate about whether there was an original Rāmāyana at all. While most of
the versions have a similar core storyline, differing only in some incidents
and details, some retellings deviate significantly in their depiction of the
characters and the relationships between them.
Some scholars wedded to particular ideologies argue that every version
and retelling is equally valid. This stance is illogical because the Rāmāyana
is not just another story. It is our itihāsa, the history of our ancestors. Saying
that anything goes and everything is acceptable suggests that anyone can
make any story out of the characters of the Rāmāyana and present it as their
version of history, a trend that has been on the rise in recent times.
While itihāsa literally translates to history, it has a much broader and
deeper significance. By way of narrating the life of our ancestors to us, the
objective of our rishis was to instruct us in the purushārthas of dharma,
artha, kāma and moksha—the building blocks of Sanātana Dharma—which
are the key to living a worthwhile and fruitful life. Thus, for us to imbibe
the intended lessons, knowing the itihāsa for what it is becomes extremely
important.
The question then is—how do we decide which rendering is the original
Rāmāyana?
The noted Sanskrit scholar Shatāvdhani Dr R. Ganesh has written an
excellent rebuttal to this controversy of multiple Rāmāyanas in his Kannadā
essay ‘Behind the Mask of the Three Hundred Rāmāyanas’ translated into
English by Sandeep Bālakrishnan. He categorically states, giving
references:
There has been widespread and intense debate over A.K.
Rāmanujan’s essay titled 300 Rāmāyanas in the media. These
debates are nothing new for the Rāmāyana scholars. The
Shatakotipravistara—that is, the long, uncountable list of various
Rāmāyanas have been subject to extensive discussions and
debates in our Itihāsa and Puranas over thousands of years.
However, what was indisputably upheld was the fact that all
Indian traditions traced their Rāmāyana retelling, studies,
interpretations, and scholarship to Vālmiki, and not to any other
source.
Among other things, Dr Ganesh also shows that most latter-day poets, both
of Sanskrit and of regional languages, have expressed their reverence for
Rishi Vālmiki, leaving no doubt about the ‘original version’, which is Rishi
Vālmiki’s Rāmāyana. Hence, for Rāmāyana Unravelled, I have used the
Sanskrit–Hindi Vālmiki Rāmāyana published by Gita Press, Gorakhpur, as
the key reference text along with translations available at
https://www.valmikiramayan.net/ and https://www.valmiki.iitk.ac.in/. In
addition, I have also referred to the Oriental Institute, Baroda’s critical
edition of the Vālmiki Rāmāyana, as needed.
But when there is so much written on the Rāmāyana, why add to the
crowd with one more book?
During discussions related to the Rāmāyana, it is not rare to hear
comments like:
Rāma’s ideals are not for this day and age. One must rather follow
Krishna.
I find it very difficult to relate to Rāma; he seems too rigid.
I can’t come to terms with what Rāma did with Seetā; it just
wasn’t fair.
These comments are often made by well-meaning people who are otherwise
very rooted in Hindu culture. Such sentiments are increasingly common
among youngsters today.
I have also seen many prominent kathāvāchakas speak about the
dichotomy of Rāma and Krishna, usually in the context of ‘end doesn’t
justify means’ for Rāma and ‘end justifies means’ for Krishna. Often, the
conclusion of such discourses is that Krishna is ready to break a rule at the
first available opportunity but Rāma will not budge, come what may, almost
bordering on obstinacy. Such conclusions are not only overly simplistic and
unfair to both the Vishnu avatārs, but they are also completely wrong. Both
Rāma and Krishna strove to establish and live by dharma. They did what
was needed to ensure adharma was destroyed and dharma prevailed by
setting the right examples for the sustenance of the society. Their
personalities were different, but not their value systems and, least of all,
their understanding of dharma.
I started my previous book, Mahābhārata Unravelled: Lesser-Known
Facets of a Well-Known History, with the chapter ‘What Is Dharma?’
Hence, I will refrain from repeating it here. But in short, dharma refers to
the overarching principle that leads to the sustainability of society. In
practice, it is a broad term that could mean duty, responsibility, virtue,
righteousness, probity and/or religion, as per the context. Adharma is the
exact opposite—that which leads to unsustainability and destruction.
I must confess I too was culpable and carried such inferences before I
decided to read the itihāsa for myself, inspired by the lectures of Professor
B. Mahadevan of the Indian Institute of Management, Bengaluru. I realised
that just like the Mahābhārata, a lot of what we think we know about the
Rāmāyana is based on writings/interpretations/retellings rather than what
Rishi Vālmiki, a contemporary of Shri Rāma, has narrated to us.
Moreover, many contemporary writings on the Rāmāyana have not been
written to understand the itihāsa and learn from it. Rather, these works seem
inclined to impose their own narratives on society, making it all about class,
gender and race conflicts. According to these stories, Rāma killed Rāvana
not because of the latter’s terrible deeds but because of the differences in
their races. Shurpanakhā was punished by Lakshmana not because she tried
to harm Seetā, but because of Lakshmana’s misogynist tendencies.
While anyone is free to take creative liberties in writing fiction (and may
that genre grow), it becomes important to remind ourselves of what the
actual itihāsa is, time and again, especially when fiction starts setting the
tone of the social narrative for a civilisation as ancient as ours.
There are also other retellings seeped in the Bhakti rasa. Here, Rāma is
the ishta, the beloved lord of the poet. Every word that the poet writes is so
full of bhāva and shraddhā that it enraptures the readers and listeners,
drawing them into a sea of emotions of love and longing, becoming sad in
Rāma’s sorrow, happy in his joy. In such retellings, Rāma is an epitome of
stoicism, love, empathy and magnanimity, unmoved and unaffected even by
the most challenging of situations. Goswāmi Tulsidās’s Rāmacharitmānas is
one such beautiful rendering. No wonder it continues to be one of the most
popular renditions of the Rāmāyana in Hindu households.
In Rishi Vālmiki’s Rāmāyana too, Rāma is undoubtedly of divine birth,
an avatār of Vishnu himself. But his personality is more human, undergoing
the full range of human emotions including despair, disappointment and
anger. What makes him special is his mental strength, clarity of thought,
strength of character, resilience in the face of challenges and, most
important, his understanding of dharma and swadharma. While he feels all
emotions and deeply so, his decision-making is not sullied by personal
emotions, biases or short-term gratifications, even when experiencing
extreme despair.
What appeals to me the most in Vālmiki Rāmāyana is the insight into
Shri Rāma’s decision-making, be it about accepting vanvās, taking a call
not to return when Bharata comes calling, punishing Vāli, inducting
Vibhishana and even provoking Seetā to perform agni parikshā. If we can
cultivate even a small fraction of his clarity and objectivity in thought, we
are bound to make better decisions. This aspect of Rāma needs more focus
and discussion. I hope I have been able to bring that out in the book. That,
at least, has been my intention.
And beyond the key events of Rāma’s life, there is so much to learn from
the Rāmāyana—Vishvāmitra’s penance, Hanumāna’s wit, Seetā’s grit,
Lakshmana’s unfailing support, Vibhishana’s sense of right, Shurpanakhā’s
deceit, Rāvana’s call for his own downfall and much more—that I firmly
believe it is necessary to revisit the Rāmāyana as narrated to us by Rishi
Vālmiki to develop a better perspective towards our own lives.
Some questions that I aim to clarify through the book are:
✦ What lessons from his growing-up years shaped Rāma’s values as a
king? Why did Rāma agree to go to vanvās—was it only to obey his
father or was there more to it?
✦ Was Lakshmana an angry young man as he is thought to be usually, or is
there more depth to his character?
✦ How was the relationship between Rāma and Seetā? Was Seetā a
pitiable, oppressed woman or an assertive woman with a mind of her
own?
✦ What led to the downfall of Rāvana? Did he refrain from forcing himself
on Seetā because he cared for her consent? Did he abduct Seetā to
avenge his sister?
✦ How was the Nala Setu built? Was it a miracle of floating stones as it is
thought to be or was it an engineering marvel?
✦ What is the real story of Ahalyā? Was she really a stone—what is her
story in the Rāmāyana?
✦ Is the Rāmāyana inherently misogynist or quite the opposite, considering
the characters of Seetā, Shurpanakhā, Kaikeyi, Tārā?
✦ Why does Krishna say in the Srimad Bhagavad Geetā that ‘among the
warriors, I am Rāma’?
… and many such questions.
In this book, to convey the right pronunciation of names while keeping
the text simple to read, I have used only the diacritic ā in Sanskrit nouns
and names that have an ‘aa’ () sound. The names ending in ‘a’ without the
diacritic must be read as .
The book is structured in three parts. The first part sets the context of the
story, describing the lineages and kingdoms mentioned in the Rāmāyana. It
begins with the events that led to the composition of the Rāmāyana by Rishi
Vālmiki. The second part has chapters narrating either the key events that
shaped the course of Rāma and Seetā’s lives or stories bringing out the
personalities and relationship dynamics of the different characters.
In these stories, more than the events per se, which are commonly
known, my focus has been on the details of how and why certain people
acted in a certain way or made certain decisions. For example, it is not news
to anyone that Hanumāna located Seetā in Lankā. But what was of more
interest to me were the thoughts going on in Hanumāna’s mind while he
was searching for her: what made him approach Seetā the way he did, or
what were the reasons Seetā gave for choosing to wait for Rāma to come to
Lankā rather than escape with Hanumāna? Or take another instance—that
Rāma accepted vanvās is a well-known fact, but rarely discussed are the
reasons he gives to Lakshmana for his decision. In such details lie the
essence of the Rāmāyana and the brilliance of Rishi Vālmiki.
The chapters are not in chronological order and hence there is some
repetition of events. My attempt has been to keep it to a minimum. Where
repetition was necessary for completing the individual story, I have tried to
summarise the events briefly, except in the chapters ‘Soumitri’ and ‘Rāmo
Vigrahavān Dharma’ in the second section. These chapters are meant to
bring together all the aspects of Lakshmana’s and Rāma’s personalities,
glimpses of which the readers get in the preceding chapters. The repetition
in these chapters is intended.
The third section is Epilogue. It contains write-ups on two events that
occur in Uttara Kānda of Vālmiki Rāmāyana, which are often cited to
dismiss the entire Rāmāyana as a casteist and misogynist text. Until the
third section, my attempt has been to bring out events from Vālmiki
Rāmāyana as is, without adding my own perceptions and opinions, while
taking the liberty to summarise dialogues and contextualise events as
necessary. In the third section, however, I narrate the events and also share
my views about them. My own understanding is evolving; hence I do not
claim that this is the only way to understand the events. Rather, the idea is
to trigger further thought than settle for a simplistic interpretation.
This brings up another important question—is Uttara Kānda an integral
part of the original Rāmāyana at all?
There are seven sections in Vālmiki Rāmāyana namely, Bāla Kānda,
Ayodhyā Kānda, Aranya Kānda, Kishkindhā Kānda, Sundara Kānda,
Yuddha Kānda and Uttara Kānda. From Bāla Kānda to Yuddha Kānda is the
main plot of the Rāmāyana, right from the birth of the four brothers to
Rāma’s coronation after killing Rāvana and returning from fourteen years
of vanvās.
Uttara Kānda has incidents that happened after Rāma’s coronation. It has
the two most controversial events of the Rāmāyana—the abandonment of
pregnant Seetā and the killing of Shambuka. Rāma’s actions in both these
situations seem uncharacteristic of him and, on the face of it, even unfair.
However, this kānda also has many interesting stories which were
alluded to in the previous kāndas but not narrated in any detail. For
example, the particulars of birth and lineage of Rāvana, the boons given to
him and his brothers, as well as the various curses pronounced on Rāvana,
while mentioned briefly in the previous kāndas, find better enumeration in
Uttara Kānda. The story of Dashagreeva becoming Rāvana is also present
in this kānda. In a way, Uttara Kānda reads like an addendum to the
previous sections.
Scholars of the Rāmāyana are split over the question of the authenticity
of Uttara Kānda. There are very pertinent arguments both in favour and
against. While the verdict is yet to be pronounced, both the Baroda critical
edition and the Gita Press edition of Vālmiki Rāmāyana have Uttara Kānda
included in them. Hence, for this book, I have taken interesting stories from
Uttara Kānda as relevant and mentioned them in the notes. And the two
controversial events—I have added them separately in the Epilogue.
Once we read the itihāsa for what it is, how we analyse and take
learnings from it eventually boils down to our own worldview and
shraddhā. But to judge a scripture of such prominence and a personality as
tall as Rāma based on an incident or two, driven by the limitation of our
own contextual understanding, is incorrect. An honest analysis should take
into account the overall context, including the past and present behaviour,
not just a single event in isolation.
That is not to say that anyone or anything is beyond questioning.
Societies are defined by the heroes they look up to. Hence, heroes cannot be
and should not be beyond critical enquiry. As society evolves, heroes have
to be put through a critical gaze to examine their relevance. This also helps
society redefine and recalibrate its value systems. But let the critical
enquiry happen with genuine curiosity to learn and evolve rather than out of
an urge to dismiss. Not for the sake of Rāma—his tale has survived the
scrutiny of thousands of years—but to expand our own frontiers of
perception and put the right paradigms in place for ourselves and our
society.
Studying Vālmiki Rāmāyana has been an emotionally enriching journey
for me. It is nothing but to get this opportunity to write a
book on the Rāmāyana. Now I know and fully understand why a citizen of
Ayodhyā calls Rāma ‘ ’—‘Rāma enchants the world’.
Once we know Rāma deeply, we cannot but be enchanted by him, and by
his story in the Rāmāyana. This story of one of our greatest ancestors will
continue to evoke interest and our deepest emotions for centuries to come.
Such was also Brahma deva’s pronouncement regarding the Rāmāyana as
he inspired Rishi Vālmiki to compose it. Brahma deva had said:
As long as the mountains stand and rivers flow on earth, this story of Rāma
will flourish in the world.1
My own wish and hope for the book are that it inspires readers to read the
Vālmiki Rāmāyana in the original.
An appeal to the readers—please bring to my notice any typos or errors
that may have been overlooked. They will be corrected in the subsequent
editions.
Siyāvar Rāmchandra ki jai!
Pavansuta Hanumāna ki jai!
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Summary Storyline
The Birth (Bāla Kānda)
✦ King Dasharatha, a scion of the Ikshvāku dynasty, was a popular
monarch of Kosala. From the capital city of Ayodhyā, he held sway
over the entire Bhāratavarsha.
✦ His subjects loved him. His contemporary kings swore allegiance to him.
✦ He had three wives—Kaushalyā, Kaikeyi and Sumitrā, but no progeny
who could carry forward the Ikshvāku lineage.
✦ To beget a successor Dasharatha called upon Rishi Rishyashringa to
conduct the Ashwamedha and Putreshti yajnas.
✦ The ritual bore fruit and four sons were born to the queens—Rāma to
Kaushalyā, Bharata to Kaikeyi and twins Lakshmana and Shatrughna to
Sumitrā.
✦ Under the able guidance of Rishi Vashishtha, who was also the royal
priest, the boys were educated in scriptures and warfare.
✦ Dasharatha loved all his sons but his ātmā resided in Rāma. This eldest
son of Dasharatha was exceptionally mature and virtuous.
The Marriage (Bāla Kānda)
✦ One day, when Rāma was just a little under sixteen years of age, Rishi
Vishvāmitra came to Dasharatha’s court. Two rākshasas—Subāhu and
Māreecha—were obstructing his yajna sankalpa.1 He wished to take
Rāma to his āshram to guard his rituals and keep the rākshasas at bay.
✦ After initial reluctance, Dasharatha sent both Rāma and Lakshmana with
Rishi Vishvāmitra.
✦ Guarded by the young princes, Vishvāmitra completed his yajna
successfully.
✦ Then, along with Rāma and Lakshmana, Vishvāmitra went to Mithilā,
the capital of Videha, to participate in the grand yajna organised by
King Janaka.
✦ Janaka had in his possession a precious heirloom, the bow of Shiva—the
Shiva Dhanush. He had resolved to marry his daughter Seetā only to the
prince who could string the Shiva Dhanush successfully.
✦ Many kings, desirous of Seetā’s hand in marriage, tried to string the bow
but failed. Rāma succeeded in stringing Shiva’s bow, but he also
managed to break it.
✦ Janaka arranged the wedding of Seetā and Rāma. He also married his
younger daughter Urmilā to Lakshmana and the daughters of his
younger brother Kushadhwaja—Māndavi and Shrutakirti—to Bharata
and Shatrughna respectively.
✦ The newly-weds returned to Ayodhyā.
✦ Rāma–Seetā and Lakshmana–Urmilā spent a few blissful years in
Ayodhyā.
✦ Bharata and Shatrughna went to the Kekaya kingdom to spend time with
Bharata’s maternal side of the family.
The Banishment (Ayodhyā Kānda)
✦ A few years later, in consultation with his ministers and citizens,
Dasharatha announced Rāma as the successor to the throne of Ayodhyā.
Coronation was scheduled immediately, on the next day itself.
✦ The news ruffled Mantharā, an old and loyal handmaiden of Kaikeyi. She
misled Kaikeyi into believing that the coronation of Rāma would spell
doom for her only son, Bharata. Mantharā’s provocations rattled
Kaikeyi.
✦ Dasharatha had granted Kaikeyi two boons in the past for saving his life
on a battlefield. She decided to put them to use to seek Bharata’s
coronation and Rāma’s vanvās—banishment to the forest—for fourteen
years.
✦ Dasharatha was left aghast at Kaikeyi’s demands but was helpless and
gave in.
✦ On learning about Kaikeyi’s wishes and his father’s situation, Rāma
accepted the fourteen years of forest stay and prepared to leave
immediately. Seetā and Lakshmana accompanied him.
✦ As directed by Rishi Bharadwāja, the three of them spent the first year of
their vanvās in Chitrakoot.
Death of Dasharatha (Ayodhyā Kānda)
✦ Rāma’s departure took a huge toll on Dasharatha. He died soon after.
✦ Bharata and Shatrughna were called back to Ayodhyā to perform the last
rites of their deceased father.
✦ Bharata was extremely embarrassed and angry on learning about the
havoc caused by his mother in the royal household. He rebuked his
mother and refused the throne of Ayodhyā.
✦ After performing the last rites of his father, Bharata headed to Chitrakoot
to bring Rāma back and get him crowned the king. Bharata also
informed Rāma about Dasharatha’s death.
✦ Rāma remained firm in his resolve to live in vanvās for fourteen years as
he had promised his father.
✦ Finally, Bharata declared that he would manage the affairs of the
kingdom for the next fourteen years, not as the king but as a custodian
of Rāma. He took Rāma’s pādukā (sandals) and carried them on his
head to show the intention and intensity of his resolve.
✦ Once back in Ayodhyā, Bharata gave up the palace and its luxuries and
went to live in an āshram in Nandigrām, outside the city. He managed
the affairs of the kingdom from Nandigrām in the name of Rāma.
✦ After spending a year in Chitrakoot, Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā headed
further south to Dandakāranya.
Dandakāranya Days (Aranya Kānda)
✦ Learning about their arrival in Dandakāranya, some rishis approached
Rāma to seek his protection from the menace of the rākshasas in the
forest. The rākshasas, under the patronage of Rāvana, would interrupt
the rituals of the rishis, destroy their āshrams and even eat them up.
✦ Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā spent the next ten years travelling in the
forest. They stayed in the āshrams of different rishis and protected them
from the rākshasas.
✦ In the eleventh year, on Rishi Agastya’s advice, they went to Panchavati
in Janasthāna to spend the remaining days of the vanvās. En route to
Panchavati, they met Jatāyu, who introduced himself as Dasharatha’s
friend.
✦ One day Shurpanakhā, Rāvana’s sister, set her eyes on the handsome
princes of Ayodhyā. She approached them for marriage, but Rāma and
Lakshmana rejected her advances.
✦ Blaming Seetā for her rejection, Shurpanakhā attempted to kill her. To
punish this audacity, Lakshmana cut her nose and ears with his sword.
✦ Shurpanakhā complained to her cousins Khara and Dushana and sought
revenge by killing the two princes. Khara and Dushana had been
appointed by Rāvana as custodians of the Dandakāranya region.
✦ With an army of fourteen thousand rākshasas, Khara and Dushana
attacked Rāma and Lakshmana. Lakshmana took Seetā to a safe place
while Rāma single-handedly defeated their entire army, killing all the
fourteen thousand rākshasas.
The Abduction (Aranya Kānda)
✦ Shocked at the unexpected result of the fight, Shurpanakhā fled to Lankā
and instigated Rāvana to get Seetā for himself.
✦ Rāvana planned to abduct Seetā with Māreecha’s help. Māreecha took
the form of an exquisite multi-hued deer to lure Seetā.
✦ Seetā, desiring the deer, requested Rāma to get it for her. Rāma agreed
and went after it.
✦ The deer took Rāma far away from the āshram. Rāma managed to kill it,
only to learn that it was a trap by Māreecha. Before dying, imitating
Rāma’s voice, Māreecha called out Lakshmana’s name, seeking help.
Sensing danger, Rāma rushed back to the āshram.
✦ Meanwhile, in the āshram, Lakshmana and Seetā heard the cry for help
in Rāma’s voice. Lakshmana suspected foul play. Seetā panicked. She
pressurised Lakshmana to go and look for Rāma.
✦ Seeing Seetā alone in the āshram, Rāvana came dressed like a rishi,
asking for food. As Seetā came closer to give the food, he lifted her in
his arms and escaped in his flying chariot.
✦ Jatāyu saw Rāvana flying away with Seetā and intervened with all his
might. But Rāvana was way too strong. He fatally injured Jatāyu and
carried Seetā away.
✦ Rāma and Lakshmana returned to the āshram only to find Seetā missing.
✦ While searching for Seetā, they met the injured Jatāyu, who informed
them about her abduction by Rāvana. But he died without giving any
clue of Rāvana’s location.
✦ Their search for Seetā continued.
✦ One day, the brothers encountered a ferocious-looking rākshasa,
Kabandha. Kabandha tried to capture the two brothers and gobble them
up for his food. Rāma and Lakshmana humbled him with their prowess,
after which the rākshasa directed them to go to Rishyamukha mountain
near Kishkindhā and seek help from Sugreeva. Rāma and Lakshmana
headed to Kishkindhā.
✦ On the way, they met Shabari in the āshram of Rishi Mātanga.
Kishkindhā Arrival (Kishkindhā Kānda)
✦ Sugreeva was the prince of a vānara tribe residing in Kishkindhā. His
elder brother Vāli was the king of the tribe.
✦ A misunderstanding made the people of Kishkindhā believe Vāli was
dead. They crowned Sugreeva as their king. But Vāli was alive. He
returned and was furious to see Sugreeva on his throne.
✦ Determined to kill, Vāli chased Sugreeva around the globe. He also
forcibly took away Sugreeva’s dear wife, Rumā.
✦ Sugreeva and his five trusted ministers, one of whom was Hanumāna,
found shelter in the precincts of Rishyamukha as Vāli had been
forbidden to enter the area by Rishi Mātanga.
✦ One day, one of Sugreeva’s ministers spotted two young, handsome and
strong warrior-like youths with mighty bows coming towards
Rishyamukha.
✦ Dressed as an old hermit, Hanumāna approached Rāma and Lakshmana.
Convinced that they were not Vāli’s men, Hanumāna led them to
Sugreeva.
✦ On hearing about Seetā’s abduction, Sugreeva showed Rāma some
ornaments that were thrown at them by an obviously unwilling woman
being carried away by a rākshasa. Rāma instantly recognised them as
Seetā’s.
✦ Rāma and Sugreeva agreed to help each other—Rāma promised to kill
Vāli and help Sugreeva get back his wife and kingdom. Sugreeva
promised to do all he could to find Seetā and help bring her back safely.
✦ Rāma killed Vāli and crowned Sugreeva the king of Kishkindhā.
✦ After the rainy season, Sugreeva divided his vānaras into four teams and
sent them in each direction to look for Seetā.
✦ As Rāvana and his Lankā were known to be in the south, Rāma and
Sugreeva were most hopeful of finding Seetā there. Hence, Rāma gave
Hanumāna his ring to prove his credentials to Seetā, if and when he
found her.
✦ After a month, troops from the north, east and west returned without any
success.
✦ The team that went south continued their search and met Sampāti, an old
and disabled garuda, who was Jatāyu’s elder brother.
✦ Sampāti was distressed to hear about his brother’s death. He had also
seen Seetā being carried away by Rāvana. Sampāti informed the vānaras
about the location of Lankā.
✦ The question facing the vānaras now was—who could jump across a
hundred yojanas to confirm Seetā’s location in Lankā?
Seetā in Lankā (Sundara Kānda)
✦ Overcoming the challenges including his own doubts, Hanumāna arrived
in Lankā, jumping over a distance of a hundred yojanas, and began his
search.
✦ Not finding Seetā anywhere in the city, Hanumāna entered a huge forest
nearby. Here he finally spotted Seetā sitting underneath an Ashoka tree
surrounded by fierce-looking rākshasa women.
✦ Seeing Rāvana enter the premises, Hanumāna hid among the branches of
an adjacent tree.
✦ Rāvana pleaded with Seetā to accept him. When she refused, he
threatened her. Seetā firmly rejected every overture of his.
✦ After Rāvana left, Hanumāna approached Seetā and introduced himself,
handing her Rāma’s ring.
✦ Hanumāna offered to rescue Seetā and take her to Kishkindhā right then.
But Seetā refused. She chose to wait for Rāma to come, kill Rāvana and
take her back.
✦ To assess Rāvana’s military prowess, Hanumāna had to catch the
attention of the rākshasas. He did that by ravaging the Ashoka forest.
✦ Furious, Rāvana sent his chieftains to catch Hanumāna. Hanumāna
fought them single-handedly, eventually letting Indrajeet, Rāvana’s
formidable son, capture him.
✦ Rāvana ordered Hanumāna to be killed. But on Vibhishana’s
intervention, he changed the punishment to burning the vānara’s tail and
parading him in Lankā.
✦ Using this as an opportunity to free himself, Hanumāna ran around with
a burning tail, jumping over different edifices, homes and gardens of
Lankā and setting them on fire before returning to Kishkindhā.
Destination Lankā (Yuddha Kānda)
✦ With Seetā’s location confirmed, Rāma, Lakshmana, Sugreeva and the
vānara army headed to the coast to find a way to reach Lankā.
✦ In Lankā, Hanumāna’s exploits startled Rāvana and his ministers.
Rāvana called his ministers to discuss the plan concerning Seetā.
✦ Except for Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana, most ministers backed
Rāvana’s decision to keep Seetā in captivity.
✦ Vibhishana tried his best to convince Rāvana to not bring about the
destruction of Lankā due to his desire for Seetā.
✦ Rāvana, however, insulted Vibhishana so much that the latter decided to
leave Lankā and take refuge with Rāma.
✦ At the coast, Varun deva’s intransigence to show them the way angered
Rāma. Finally, afraid of Rāma’s ire, Varun appeared and instructed Nala
to construct a bridge over the ocean.
✦ The vānaras constructed a bridge in five days, using boulders, stones,
trees and barks, and crossed over to Lankā.
The War (Yuddha Kānda)
✦ The news of the vānaras reaching the Lankān shores unnerved many
rākshasas. Rāvana’s mother, maternal grandfather and some of his wise
ministers advised him to let go of Seetā, but all in vain.
✦ Before formally kicking off the war, Rāma sent Angada as a messenger
to Rāvana’s court to give him one last chance to return Seetā and save
Lankā.
✦ Rāvana ordered the capture of Angada, but Angada managed to escape
through the ceiling of the palace. War conches were then sounded.
✦ The vānaras and the rākshasas fought, causing immense damage to each
other.
✦ After the first set of commanders sent by Rāvana were killed, Indrajeet
came to fight.
✦ Resorting to his powers of creating illusions, Indrajeet inflicted severe
injuries on the vānaras as well as on Rāma and Lakshmana. With his
nāgapāsh, Rāma and Lakshmana collapsed on the ground, unconscious.
✦ But help came to them in the form of a garuda, who freed them from the
grip of the nāgas and helped them regain their strength.
✦ After some more rākshasa commanders were killed, Rāvana himself
entered the battlefield. Rāma rendered him weaponless and chariot-less
but spared his life at that time.
✦ Kumbhakarna entered the battle next and began his carnage. No vānara
could withstand his brute force. The field became gory with the blood
and flesh of the vānaras and the rākshasas alike.
✦ Kumbhakarna eventually met his death at the hands of Rāma.
✦ Other sons, brothers, nephews and ministers of Rāvana came to the
combat zone and met the same fate as those before them.
✦ Indrajeet re-entered the battlefield and invoked the Brahmāstra. To
maintain the sanctity of the Brahmāstra, Rāma and Lakshmana
surrendered to the impact of the divine weapon and fell unconscious.
✦ To revive the brothers, Hanumāna brought mrita-sanjeevani and three
other herbs from the Himālayas.
✦ Yuddha resumed. More rākshasa commanders were killed.
✦ This time, resorting to his tricks of illusion, Indrajeet conjured an image
of Seetā and pretended to kill her to demotivate Sugreeva’s army.
✦ Rāma became distressed on hearing about Seetā’s death. Vibhishana
lifted everyone’s spirits by puncturing Indrajeet’s claim of killing Seetā
and informed them of Indrajeet’s strategy to buy time to conduct a yajna
at the Nikumbhilā temple and become invincible. To defeat him,
disrupting the yajna before its completion was now paramount.
Lakshmana was handed the task to kill Indrajeet.
✦ Lakshmana and Indrajeet duelled over three days and three nights, both
putting up a magnificent fight. Finally, killing Indrajeet, Lakshmana
emerged victorious.
✦ With all the commanders dead, Rāvana entered the battle once again to
fight Rāma.
✦ The battle between Rāma and Rāvana was one of its kind. Even gods in
heaven came out to witness this clash of the titans.
✦ During the battle, Rāma severed Rāvana’s head but another one popped
up. This happened over a hundred times.
✦ Then Rāma summoned his divine astra and shot at Rāvana, aiming for
Rāvana’s chest. Rāvana’s chest was ripped asunder. The mighty
rākshasa collapsed dead.
Agni Parikshā (Yuddha Kānda)
✦ After Rāvana’s cremation and Vibhishana’s coronation, Rāma sent
Vibhishana to bring Seetā, if she so wished.
✦ Rāma had gone through immense pain on separation from Seetā. But
when Seetā finally came to him in Lankā, Rāma refused to accept her,
casting doubts on her chastity.
✦ Aghast and determined to prove her virtue, Seetā ordered Lakshmana to
light a pyre. ‘If my intention and my actions have been chaste, the fire
will protect me,’ she declared before stepping into the flames.
✦ Agni deva vouched for Seetā’s purity of thoughts and actions. Seetā
emerged out of the flames, untarnished. Rāma was pleased. He
explained that he never had an iota of doubt about Seetā. But he wanted
society to be a witness to Seetā’s purity and never question her
character.
The Homecoming (Yuddha Kānda)
✦ Fourteen years of their vanvās had ended. Bharata was waiting for their
return. Rāma expressed his desire to Vibhishana to return to Ayodhyā as
soon as possible.
✦ Vibhishana arranged for the Pushpak vimān to fly the entire contingent
of the vānaras, along with Rāma, Lakshmana, Seetā and him, to
Ayodhyā.
✦ Making a stop at Kishkindhā to take the wives of the vānara commanders
along with them as desired by Seetā, the entourage landed at Prayāg at
the āshram of Rishi Bharadwāja.
✦ Rāma sent Hanumāna to Nandigrām to inform Bharata of their arrival.
✦ Bharata was genuinely overjoyed. He got Ayodhyā ready to welcome
Rāma home.
✦ Rāma returned to Ayodhyā and took over its reign.
✦ He ruled the kingdom for many years. The kingdom of Rāma was the
epitome of happiness and prosperity, thanks to his just and
compassionate administration, forever engaged in the welfare of all
citizens—this is what Rāma Rājya signifies till today.
Summary of Uttara Kānda
In Rāma’s court, rishis came and narrated the stories of the emergence of
rākshasas, the birth of Rāvana and his siblings and his exploits and
misadventures.
Rāma heard of the gossip widespread in the kingdom which questioned
Seetā’s character after her abduction and confinement by Rāvana.
Rāma was extremely pained, but to honour public opinion, he banished
a pregnant Seetā to the forest, where she was given shelter by Rishi
Vālmiki in his āshram. Her twin sons Lava and Kusha
were born there. The boys grew up in the āshram, receiving education
in the scriptures and training in warfare under the guidance of Rishi
Vālmiki.
On advice from his brothers and ministers, Rāma undertook the
Ashwamedha Yajna. Lava–Kusha were young boys at that time, just
twelve years old.
By then Rishi Vālmiki had composed the Rāmāyana and taught it to the
boys. The rishi went to participate in the yajna along with Lava–Kusha
and his students.
One day, the boys sang the Rāmāyana in Rāma’s court, during which
the identity of the two boys as the sons of Rāma and Seetā was revealed.
Rāma called for Seetā and requested her to prove herself once and for
all and return to him.
Seetā did swear by her virtue but did not return to Rāma. Instead, she
called for mother earth to take her in her womb.
Granting her wish and proving her purity, the earth split open, taking
Seetā in.
Rāma eventually departed to his heavenly abode along with Bharata
and Sugreeva. Lakshmana had moved on some time earlier. In keeping
with Rāma’s wish, Hanumāna stayed on to narrate the story of the
Rāmāyana to future generations.
1
The Divine Inspiration
In an āshram by the banks of the Tamasā river lived Rishi Vālmiki with his
students. One day, Devarishi Nārada came visiting and the two got talking.
Rishi Vālmiki listed sixteen virtues desirable in a man, especially a king.
He wanted to know if there was such a man who lived in their times. He
asked:1
Who in contemporary times is endowed with virtues, valour,
dharma, gratitude, fortitude and firm determination?
Who has impeccable character and is forever devoted to the
welfare of all beings, and who is erudite, capable and very
handsome?
Who maintains composure in all kinds of situations, has won
over his anger, emanates resplendence, and has no jealousy; and
who, when angry, is feared even by the gods?
Nārada replied promptly: ‘There is one person that we know in the present
times who is indeed like you describe. He is the king of Ayodhyā, born in
the dynasty of Ikshvāku—Rāma.’
Devarishi Nārada went on to recount the story of Rāma—his unexpected
vanvās, life in the forest, Seetā’s abduction by Rāvana, Rāma’s sorrow,
friendship with the vānaras, construction of the bridge over the sea, victory
in Lankā and coronation to the throne of Ayodhyā.
The Composition
After Nārada had left, the rishi went to the banks of Tamasā for his bath. He
spotted a couple of kraunch birds fluttering happily around in each other’s
company.
Suddenly, a hunter shot dead the male kraunch. The female kraunch
began screeching in shock and sorrow. Rishi Vālmiki was deeply pained
witnessing this cruel act of the hunter that separated two birds in love.
Instinctively, he uttered a curse condemning the hunter for causing such
pain to the birds.
‘Oh hunter, since you have killed one bird of the couple when it was
infatuated by passion, you will be deprived of your pratishthā, your peace.’
Having uttered the words, Vālmiki became thoughtful. He was struck by
the structure of the verse that he had spoken. He narrated the verse once
again to a disciple nearby and said, ‘Overcome by grief, the words I uttered
seemed to have come out arranged in a poetic metre of four parts. Like a
shloka, it can be rendered as a song when set in rhythm on a stringed
musical instrument.’ The disciple happily committed the words to his
memory.
The shloka uttered by Rishi Vālmiki was:
:
: 2
The chhanda (metre) of this shloka is Anustup which is very easy to set
into rhythm for musical rendition. Anustup metre is made up of thirty-two
syllables divided into four parts, called padas. Each pada has eight
syllables. In addition, there are rules about what kind of syllable—guru
(hard) or laghu (soft)—is to be used in which position. The fifth syllable
of each pada is laghu and the sixth is guru. The seventh syllable of the
second and fourth padas is laghu and of the first and third padas, is guru.
Both the Rāmāyana and the Mahābhārata, including the Srimad
Bhagavad Geetā, have been composed in the Anupstup chhanda.
Rishi Vālmiki returned to his āshram, his mind preoccupied with the
sorrowful incident he had witnessed and the verse he had uttered. That day,
he had a divine vision. Brahma deva manifested before him. The Pitāmaha
smiled for he was aware of the thought nagging the rishi and said, ‘What
you composed is a shloka indeed. Do not think otherwise. The words were
uttered in that manner due to my will. I want you to narrate the life of
Rāma.’
Brahma deva said, ‘I want you to talk to the world about the virtuous,
steadfast and courageous Rāma, about whom you heard from Nārada. All
the details of the events in the life of Rāma, Lakshmana, Seetā and the
rākshasas will be revealed to you. Not a word you write in the epic will be
untrue. As long as the mountains stand and rivers flow on earth, this story
of Rāma will flourish in the world.’
A strong belief took shape in Rishi Vālmiki’s mind. ‘I must compose
Rāmāyana in its entirety,’ he resolved.
The rishi sat down in deep meditation to learn the details of Rāma’s life.
By the strength of his yogic powers, he could see the events in Rāma’s life
play out before his eyes, as they had happened. He could see things as
clearly as one sees a fruit held in the palm. Not only did he see what had
happened, but also what was yet to happen.
Thus was composed the Rāmāyana, one of the most important itihāsa of
Bhāratavarsha, replete with nava rasas—the aesthetics for romance,
wonderment, pathos, comic, fury, fright, valour, disgust and peace.
The Rendition
Having compiled the itihāsa, the task before Rishi Vālmiki was to identify
the right disciple who could render the epic to a larger audience. As he was
contemplating this, two of his students, Lava and Kusha, came to meet him.
These young boys were smart, virtuous, well-versed in the Vedas and adept
in music. Rāma looked like the reflection of Vishnu on earth. Lava and
Kusha looked like a reflection of Rāma.
Rishi Vālmiki made the boys memorise the Rāmāyana. The boys
imbibed the epic in its entire profundity and rendered it wherever they went,
singing perfect notes and moving the audience to its core.
They sang about the glory of Ayodhyā, the birth of Rāma and his
brothers, their marriages and the sudden twist of fate in Rāma’s life. They
narrated the lives of Rāma, Seetā and Lakshmana in vanvās, Seetā’s
abduction by Rāvana, the glory of Lankā and the falling out of Vibhishana
and Rāvana. They sang about the pangs of the longing of Rāma and Seetā,
the ferocity of the war in Lankā, the heart-wrenching moment of Seetā’s
agni parikshā, the eventual happy union of Rāma and Seetā and Rāma’s
grand coronation in Ayodhyā.
As the boys sang, the audience identified themselves with Rāma and
Seetā, ebbing and flowing with the emotions they had lived through,
savouring the rhythm of Lava and Kusha’s recitation recounting the life of
their beloved king.
One day, Rishi Vālmiki heard of the grand Ashwamedha yajna being
performed by Rāma. Guests from all over thronged Ayodhyā to participate
in the yajna and the celebrations. Rishi Vālmiki went too, along with his
students. Lava and Kusha were among them. One day, the boys were
singing the Rāmāyana on the streets and by-lanes of Ayodhyā when Rāma
saw them. He invited them to his palace to sing before his brothers,
courtiers and the public.
Lava and Kusha began to sing the story of Rāma before the great man
himself!
As the Rāmāyana was rendered then in the royal court of Ayodhyā, so it
is rendered to this day. As it moved people then, so it moves people even
now. The rishi says that merely hearing the epic confers punya on the
listeners because the Rāmāyana is not just an epic documenting the life of
Rāma, Lakshmana, Seetā and others, but it is a work that brings to life,
through their life and lessons, the wisdom of the Vedas.3
About the Rāmāyana, it is said:
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(It) abounds in qualities of pleasure ( ) as well as nuances of
dharma;
it is like an ocean of beautiful gem-like thoughts and is as
pleasing to the mind as the gist of all shrutis.4
May the life and actions of Rāma continue to inspire us all!
Who Was Rishi Vālmiki?
In the Rāmāyana, there is very little information about Rishi Vālmiki. All
we are told is that he is a celebrated rishi and yogi, who lives in an āshram
by the banks of River Tamasā. During their vanvās, Rāma, Seetā and
Lakshmana pay him a visit before heading to Chitrakoot.
There is one instance in Uttara Kānda of the Rāmāyana where Rishi
Vālmiki introduces himself. He says he is the tenth son of Prachetā and
has done intense tapasyā for many years.5
However, another popular tale about Rishi Vālmiki has a lot more
detail. The source of the story is Skanda Purāna. According to the Purāna,
Rishi Vālmiki was a hunter in his previous birth. An encounter with Rishi
Shankha changed his life. Rishi Shankha gave him the Rāma nāma
mantra. Due to the regular chanting of the Rāma mantra, he was born as
the son of Rishi Valmiki in his subsequent birth. Being the son of Valmiki,
he was also known as Vālmiki and is credited with the composition of the
Rāmāyana.6
In another version of the story, the hunter is born as Agni Sharmā
(variably, Ratnākar) and is again engaged in hunting. After a chance
meeting with Saptarishis, he began chanting ‘marā, marā’. When chanted
continuously, ‘marā, marā’ sounds the same as ‘rāma, rāma’. Agni
Sharmā became so engrossed in chanting the Rāma mantra that he lost all
sense of the present. An anthill—valmik—developed on his body but he
continued to chant. Because of the valmika, he got the name Vālmiki and
went on to compose the Rāmāyana.7
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2
Bloodlines
The Lineage of Rāma
From the ancient era of Prajāpati till the present day, this earth has
been reigned by kings of the Ikshvāku dynasty. In this very
lineage was born the great king Sagar who reigned the earth with
pride, surrounded by his sons. He was the one who got the mighty
ocean dug up. It is in this family of illustrious monarchs that the
great epic called the Rāmāyana is set. This Rāmāyana is endowed
with dharma, artha, kāma,1 and we will sing it today in its
entirety. May you all listen to it with a pure heart and mind.
This was how Lava and Kusha began their recital of the Rāmāyana in the
court of Rāma.2
While the main story of the Rāmāyana revolves around the life of Rāma,
Rishi Vālmiki has preserved his entire ancestry in the epic. He has also
narrated a few stories related to Rāma’s forefathers. Ikshvāku was the
progenitor of this dynasty which ruled from Ayodhyā; hence the name
Ikshvāku vamsha—the lineage of Ikshvāku. The dynasty is also called
Raghu vamsha from Raghu, another great king in the Ikshvāku dynasty.
Other renowned descendants of Ikshvāku and ancestors of Rāma were
Anaranya, Trishanku, Sagar, Dilip, Bhageeratha, Kakustha, Pravruddha and
Dasharatha. The descent of river Gangā on earth is credited to Rājā
Bhageeratha of this dynasty.
Rāma, Bharata and the twins Lakshmana and Shatrughna were sons of
Dasharatha born to Kaushalyā, Kaikeyi and Sumitrā, respectively. Being
descendants of Kakustha and Raghu, Rāma and his brothers are addressed
as Kākustha and Rāghava multiple times in the Rāmāyana. Being sons of
Dasharatha, they are also called Dāsharathi. Lakshmana and Shatrughna are
often called Soumitri, sons of Sumitrā, Dasharatha’s third wife.
In the Rāmāyana, Rāma’s lineage is recounted twice by Rishi Vashishtha
—first at the wedding of Rāma and Seetā and then again in Chitrakoot,
when Bharata was trying to convince Rāma to return to Ayodhyā.3
Surya Vamsha and Chandra Vamsha
Ikshvāku was the son of Manu and the grandson of Vivasvān. Vivasvān
being the name of Surya or the Sun, Ikshvāku’s vamsha is also called the
Surya vamsha—the lineage of the Sun or the ‘Solar dynasty’.
The story of the Mahābhārata is of the kings of Chandra vamsha, the
lineage of the Moon, also called the ‘Lunar dynasty’. The original
ancestor of Chandra vamsha is also Vivasvān, but on the maternal side.
Manu married his daughter Ilā to Budha, the son of Soma, Soma being
another name for the Moon. Through the union of Ilā and Budha,
Pururavā was born. Pururavā was the progenitor of the Yādavas, Kurus
and Pānchālas, among others. Manu is considered the progenitor of all
human beings.
Brihadbala, one of the descendants of Rāma, fought on the side of
Kauravas in the Mahābhārata war and was killed by Abhimanyu. It is
believed that Gautama Buddha was a Suryavamshi, a descendant of
Rāma.
Fig. 1 Rāma’s vamshāvali
The Lineage of Seetā
Seetā was the daughter of Rājā Janaka and his wife Sunainā, but she was
not born to them. Janaka found her in the womb of the earth while clearing
the land for a yajna. The baby was lifted by the blade of his plough. Janaka
and Sunainā adopted the baby and called her Seetā, meaning a furrow. The
couple brought up the child with a lot of love and care. They had one more
daughter of their own after that, Urmilā. But Seetā had a special place in
Janaka’s heart. Janaka had a brother by the name Kushadhwaja, the
custodian of janapada of Sānkāshya. He had two daughters, Māndavi and
Shrutakirti.
Janaka was the king of Videha. Mithilā was his capital. He was born in
the lineage of the great ancient king Nimi, who founded this kingdom.
Nimi’s son was Mithi from whom the city of Mithilā got its name. Mithi’s
son was Janaka (not Seetā’s father). He was the first one to be called by that
appellation. From then on, the kings of Videha were addressed reverentially
as Janaka or father. Seetā’s father, Janaka, was twenty-third in this lineage
of Nimi. Devarāta was another distinguished king in the dynasty, sixth from
Nimi, seventh overall.
King Devarāta had been entrusted by the devās with the Shiva Dhanush
—the bow of Shiva. Since then, this had become a family heirloom for the
kings of Nimi’s lineage. Janaka had decided that he would marry Seetā only
to the mighty warrior who could string this bow of Shiva.4
After Rishi Vashishtha informed the assembly of the lineage of
Ikshvākus before Seetā–Rāma vivāha, Janaka recounted his own.5 The four
daughters of Janaka’s household were then married to the four sons of
Dasharatha. Seetā with Rāma, Urmilā with Lakshmana, Māndavi with
Bharata and Shrutakirti with Shatrughna.
Fig. 2 Seetā’s vamshāvali
The Lineage of Rāvana
Once there lived a famous rishi by the name Pulastya. He was the son of
Brahma deva. His wife was Mahātejasvi. They had a son as erudite as his
father. His name was Vishrava. Rishi Bharadwāja married his daughter to
Rishi Vishrava. Through their union, a noble son, Vaishravan, was born. He
came to be known all over the world as Kuber. Happy with Kuber’s
tapasyā,6 Brahma deva gave him the Pushpak vimān as his vāhan. On
Vishrava’s suggestion, Kuber went to Lankā, then a deserted island, and
established a flourishing kingdom there.
Before Kuber came there, Lankā had been inhabited by a rākshasa tribe,
which had abandoned the place and moved on. Seeing prosperity return to
the place, many people of the rākshasa tribe returned and settled there
happily.7
One of the kings of rākshasas was Sukesh. He had three powerful sons,
namely, Mālyavān, Sumāli and Māli. Sumāli had a daughter named Kaikasi.
Kaikasi was an extremely resplendent lady, as splendid as Goddess
Lakshmi. Like every father, Sumāli was eagerly waiting to find a worthy
husband for his exceptional daughter. However, a good match was hard to
come by. Fearing rejection, most suitors were hesitant to even approach her.
One day Sumāli saw Kuber in his Pushpak vimān, going to meet his
father. He was extremely impressed by this radiant, young king of Lankā.
An idea struck him—one that could help his daughter get a worthy husband
and help restore the lost glory of his tribe at the same time. He convinced
his daughter to approach Rishi Vishrava and choose him as her husband.
A husband like Vishrava would ensure Kaikasi had distinguished children
just like Kuber, he thought.
When Kaikasi reached Rishi Vishrava’s āshram, he was in deep tapasyā.
She waited patiently before him. When the rishi finished his rituals and
looked up, he saw a beautiful damsel waiting for him. ‘Who are you and
what brings you here?’ he asked. ‘May the respected Sir, by the strength of
his tapasyā, himself figure out the reason for my coming,’ she replied coyly
and added, ‘but let me assure you that I come here with my father’s
approval. My name is Kaikasi.’
The rishi meditated for a few minutes and said, ‘Hmm, so you come here
with the desire of having children with me. Thus, it will be. But the time
when my eyes fell on you was not the most auspicious. Hence, the children
born to you will be violent and cruel.’ Kaikasi was shocked. ‘You are a
distinguished rishi and very revered. I do not expect cruel children from
you. Please be kind to me,’ she implored. Vishrava comforted her. ‘Our
youngest son will undoubtedly be virtuous and kind.’
Thus it came to be as Vishrava had foreseen. He and Kaikasi had four
children, three sons—Dashagreeva, Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana, and a
daughter, Shurpanakhā. Vibhishana was the youngest of the four.
Dashagreeva came to be popularly known as Rāvana—the one who made
the world cry.
Kaikasi was fond of Kuber and would often tell Dashagreeva to strive to
be like his elder stepbrother. One day when jealousy and anger got the
better of him, Rāvana declared, ‘Do not lose heart, Mother. I promise that I
will become equal to or even better than Kuber.’ He headed to Gokarna,
along with his brothers, to undertake severe tapasyā and please Brahma
deva.8
After years of intense effort, they succeeded. Brahma deva came to fulfil
his wish. ‘What do you desire, sons?’ asked he. Rāvana desired immortality,
but Brahma deva refused. ‘No being can live forever. Ask for something
else,’ he said. Rāvana gave it some thought and requested, ‘Grant me
immortality from devas, asuras, dānavas, daityas, gandharvas, yakshas,
garuda and nāgas. Other beings I have no fear of, especially humans.
Human beings are like strands of straw before me, so you may exclude
them.’ ‘So will it be,’ declared the Pitāmaha.9 Kumbhakarna, Kaikasi’s
second son, was born with immense strength and excessive hunger. Not
able to control his hunger, he would eat anyone who came his way, more so
the ascetics and innocent people. Hence, when Brahma deva sought to fulfil
his desire, all devas protested. To protect the world from becoming devoid
of humans and animals, Brahma deva put Kumbhakarna in a state of
perpetual sleep. This upset Rāvana. He pleaded for making some
concessions for Kumbhakarna. Brahma deva agreed and said,
‘Kumbhakarna will wake up once in a few months and then go back to
sleep again.’
Vibhishana desired only one boon—to remain steadfast in dharma even
in the most adverse of situations. ‘Your intellect will never deviate from the
path of dharma,’ blessed Brahma deva and left.10
Rāvana had many wives. Mandodari, the daughter of Maya dānava was
his chief queen. Maya was aware of the cruel nature of Rāvana, but taking
into account his birth in the noble lineage of Rishi Pulastya, Maya married
his extremely beautiful and gracious daughter Mandodari to Rāvana.
Mandodari was the mother of Rāvana’s sons Meghanād and Aksh.
Meghanād was better known as Indrajeet for having defeated the king of
devas, Indra himself. Kumbhakarna was married to Vajrajvālā, the
granddaughter of King Bali. Kumbha and Nikumbha were his better-known
sons. Vibhishana was married to Saramā, the daughter of the king of
Gandharvas, Shailush. Rāvana got his sister Shurpanakhā married to the
powerful commander of the Kālkeya tribe, Vidyutjihvā.11 A few years later,
following a tussle with the Kālkeyas, in the heat of the moment, Rāvana
killed Vidyutjihvā, making his own sister a widow.12 Shurpanakhā was
distraught. To make her feel better, Rāvana asked her to go and live in
Janasthāna in the Dandaka forests with his cousins Khara and Dushana.
The Kumbhakarna Syndrome
The syndrome exhibited by Kumbhakarna, as described in the Rāmāyana,
is similar to what modern medicine calls a hypothalamic disorder. This
disorder, also known as Klein–Levin syndrome or hypothalamic obesity,
is characterised by periodic episodes of somnolence (excessive sleep),
hyperphagia (excessive hunger) and hypersexuality, along with other
behavioural and cognitive difficulties.13
Research papers have been written theorising that Kumbhakarna may
have been suffering from this disorder.
Fig. 3 Rāvana’s vamshāvali
Vanchāri or Vānaras
Forest-dwelling tribes living in various parts of Jambudwipa were called
vanchāri or vānaras14 who subsisted on fruits and food found in the jungles.
They owed allegiance to a mighty king named Riksharāja who ruled from
Kishkindhā,15 a city in the Dandakāranya region.16
Riksharāja had two sons, Vāli and Sugreeva. Vāli being the elder
became the king after Riksharāja. He was extremely powerful but short-
tempered. That he had once humbled Rāvana, who had come looking for
Vāli for a duel, was a testimony to his strength. Vāli had an equally worthy
son Angada through his wife Tārā. Tārā was a very intelligent and learned
lady. After Vāli was killed by Rāma, Sugreeva was crowned the king of the
vānaras. His wife was Rumā.
Other prominent vānaras aligned with Sugreeva who came to support
Rāma against Rāvana included Jāmbavana, Neela, Nala, Sushena and
Hanumāna.
Hanumāna was especially gifted. He was as strong as he was intelligent
and eloquent. His mother was Anjanā, the extremely beautiful daughter of
the great vānara chief Kunjara, married to another eminent vānara, Kesari.
Once, besotted by her beauty, Vāyu deva approached Anjanā. Anjanā
resisted initially but gave in when Vāyu deva promised her that she would
be a mother to an extremely resplendent, strong and valiant son. And thus,
Hanumāna was born.17 Therefore, Hanumāna is also called Vāyu putra—
the son of Vāyu.
In other texts like Skanda Purāna, Anjanā is said to have undertaken
tapasyā to beget a son. Her tapasyā involved mediation on the vital breath
(prāna vāyu). Pleased with her tapasyā, Vāyu deva granted her wish and
Hanumāna was born.18
Ārya Unārya
There is a popular theory that the word Ārya denoted a race of fair-
complexioned people who came from grasslands in Europe to the Indian
peninsula. They brought with them Sanskrit and the Vedic culture and
displaced the original inhabitants of Saraswati–Sindhu civilisation—the
Dravidians. The Dravidians, or Unāryas, were then pushed South due to
the influx of the Āryans. This is known as the Āryan migration theory
(previously Āryan invasion theory). Many recent storytellers have retold
the story of the Rāmāyana, imposing on it this Āryan–Dravidian
framework, inferring that the story of Rāma and Rāvana has more to do
with a racial conflict between the Aryans and the Dravidians than dharma
and adharma.
A lot of work is being done to prove and disprove the Āryan migration
theory by different groups. The scope of this book does not permit any
critical examination of this theory. However, given the imposition of
Āryan–Dravidian conflict on the Rāmāyana, it is worth noting how the
words Ārya and Unārya are used in the epic.
Both these words occur multiple times in the Rāmāyana. The usage,
very categorically, is not racial in nature. The word Ārya has been
consistently used to denote a quality—a ‘gentlemanly’ quality, a
behaviour expected of civilised people who can differentiate right from
wrong.
One may argue that these Āryans thought of only themselves as
civilised and hence considered the quality synonymous with their own
race. If we were to accept this line of argument, then the textual inference
from the Rāmāyana would be—everyone in the Rāmāyana times, from the
north to the south of the Indian peninsula, including the Ikshvākus, the
rākshasa tribes of Rāvana as well as the vānaras affirmatively belonged to
the same race.
This proposition is based on the following:
✦ Dasharatha calls Kaikeyi Unārya for seeking Rāma’s exile.
✦ Seetā calls Lakshmana Unārya for not rushing out to help his brother in Janasthāna.
✦ Rāvana and Indrajeet call Vibhishana Unārya for going over to Rāma’s side.
✦ Rāvana calls his charioteer Unārya for taking him away from the battlefield.
✦ Angada tells his vānaras who were running away from the battlefield not to behave like
Unāryas.
✦ Seetā exhorts Hanumāna to not kill the rākshasis because they were only following Rāvana’s
orders. Such behaviour (that is, not killing them), she says, is expected of one who is Ārya.
✦ Mandodari and other wives of Rāvana, as well as the commanders of the rākshasa army, refer to
Rāvana as Ārya and Āryaputra (son of an Arya—son of a decent man, hence a decent man
himself).
✦ Tārā refers to Vāli as Ārya.
These are only a handful of examples. Ārya and Unārya have been
generously used throughout the epic. Arya is used as a term to imply a
gentleman or woman and Unārya is used to imply an uncivilised,
deceitful, cowardly person—man or woman.
The race theory of fair-complexioned Aryas doesn’t seem to hold either
because Rāma is himself called Shyām, one who had a dusky complexion.
Krishna, Draupadi, and Veda Vyāsa are other examples of dark-skinned
heroes and heroines in Indian epics.
Another point worth mentioning is that Rāvana and the people of Lankā
are shown to perform yajnas and chant Vedic mantras just like Rāma and
the people of Ayodhyā. Rāvana, after his death, is cremated according to
Hindu rites. In fact, Rāvana is praised by Vibhishana as one who would
regularly perform grand yajnas as prescribed in the scriptures.
Ψ
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3
Cities and City Life in the Rāmāyana
Ayodhyā
On the banks of river Sarayu stood the great janapada of Kosala, flourishing
and abundant. Its capital was the famous city of Ayodhyā. It was said that
the great Manu had himself established Ayodhyā. When Dasharatha ruled,
Ayodhyā was a sprawling megapolis1—12 yojanas2 in length and 3 yojanas
in breadth. The city had well-laid pathways and royal highways that were
routinely sprinkled with water and strewn with flowers. Tall, multistorey
edifices, huge arched gateways, gem-studded mansions, beautiful gardens
and neatly-lined markets adorned the town. There was no space that was
left unutilised. Houses were close to each other and constructed on levelled
land. Farms had plenty of grains and the stables had the best breeds of
horses from Kāmbhoja, Bāhlika and Vanāyu regions, and elephants from
Vindhyas and Himālayas. Even the water in Ayodhyā was sweet like
sugarcane juice. The deep moats and weaponised fortifications surrounding
the city made access impossible for trespassers and insurmountable for
enemies, thus living up to its name—Ayodhyā, that against which one
cannot fight a war.
Size of Ayodhyā
To get a sense of the size of city, consider this comparison:
City Area
Ayodhyā in the Rāmāyana times 6,000 sq
km
Mumbai 600 sq
km
New Delhi (city) 1,484 sq
km
New York City 1,213 sq
km
London 1,572 sq
km
Shanghai Municipal Area 6,340 sq
km
Mumbai Metropolitan Area (including Thane, Vasai, Panvel,
Navi Mumbai, etc.)
6,328 sq
km
The city was bustling with activity. People from different communities,
professions and walks of life called Ayodhyā their home, be it sculptors,
architects, groups of male and female actors, all kinds of artists, bards,
rishis and ascetics, pandits well-versed in Vedas, and many others. Citizens
and merchants from numerous countries adorned the city with their
presence. Feudatory chiefs and kings of other janapadas would come to pay
their taxes to Dasharatha.
The people of Ayodhyā, men as well as women of all communities, were
virtuous, of strong character, well mannered, with self-restraint and content
—almost saint-like. There were no thieves in the city, nor anyone living in
poverty. There was no one, neither man nor woman, who was unclean,
without wealth, without elegance or embellishments and fragrances on their
bodies. There was no one who was famished, or uncharitable, or imprudent.
Subjects of Ayodhyā were pious and loyal to their king. They were great
hosts and took good care of their guests. The people lived long and healthy
lives.
The peace and prosperity of the state were ensured by Dasharatha and
his team of eight ministers through their able administration. Wise counsel
and guidance from their royal gurus—Rishi Vashishtha and Rishi Vāmdeva
—helped the king to stay on the virtuous path. Dasharatha was powerful
enough to subjugate his enemies and generous enough to keep his friends
and allies in good stead. He ensured the treasury was full and weaponry
well-stocked to provide stability and peace to his people. It was said of
Dasharatha that he was a ‘Rājarshi’—a saintly king.
Dasharatha had chosen his ministers well. They were of sharp intellect
and capable of comprehending minute nuances of issues. They were experts
in policy, economics and administration. Always soft-spoken, they knew
how to manage treasury, maintain the army in good form and keep secrets.
They also understood the nature of alliances and war. They kept a close eye
on all happenings inside and outside the state by way of a strong network of
spies. The ministers were objective and unbiased and would not shy away
from punishing even their own sons if found guilty. Nor would they inflict
punishment on innocent people. A fair process was followed to determine
guilt. Only after considering all aspects of a case was an appropriate
punishment determined.
Such was the splendour of Ayodhyā and its people.3
Kishkindhā
Ayodhyā was in the plains, by the Sarayu river; Lankā was perched on a
mountaintop. Kishkindhā was situated inside the dense forest of
Dandakāranya. The city seemed like a colossal cave. It had ornate, gem-
studded mansions—none having just a single storey—surrounded by
beautiful and bountiful orchards, wide pathways and flowing springs of
crystal-clear water. Sweet fragrances of sandalwood, lotuses, flower-liquor
and fruit wines permeated its air. Many vānaras, dressed in rich garments,
wearing garlands and ornaments, strutted about the streets of Kishkindhā,
highlighting the city’s grandeur.4
In the Rāmāyana, we get a glimpse of Kishkindhā through Lakshmana’s
eyes.
Lankā
Vishvakarmā had himself designed the city of Lankā, ensconced between
Trikuta and Suvel mountains on the southern coast. He built this city for the
rākshasa tribe led by Heti. The grace of Brahma had made the rākshasas
powerful and prosperous. But with time, this power also made them
arrogant and oppressive. Eventually, Vishnu intervened and defeated the
rākshasas. Following this defeat, the rākshasas abandoned Lankā and
retreated to the interiors. After many years, the city was re-established by
Kuber. In his reign, Lankā became a place of luxury and affluence,
surpassing its past glory.
After Rāvana acquired the boon of near-immortality from Brahma deva,
his maternal relatives provoked him to stake his claim on Lankā. Rāvana
rejected the idea at first—Kuber was his elder brother after all. Kuber had
always been very affectionate towards his siblings, including Rāvana. But
the instigations continued, making Rāvana believe that the rākashasas had
been wronged and Lankā belonged to them. The maternal relatives also told
Rāvana that if they gained control of Lankā, he would become the ruler.
Convinced, or rather tempted, Rāvana sent a messenger to Kuber with
the message that said, ‘This city of Lankā previously belonged to rākshasas
led by my maternal grandfather Sumāli. It is only fair that you return to the
rākshasas what is truly theirs.’ Kuber replied with poise to his younger
brother, ‘Our father had instructed me to come and live here. When I came,
Lankā was devoid of rākshasas and other inhabitants. It is through my effort
that Lankā is what it is today. But you are my brother. Whatever is mine, is
for you to enjoy too. I have never kept you away from it.’
Kuber sought advice from his father, Rishi Vishrava, on the future course
of action. Rishi Vishrava advised Kuber to let Rāvana have Lankā. ‘Rāvana
had previously made this demand to me. I admonished him that trying to
capture Lankā in this manner will lead to his downfall. But Brahma deva’s
boon has made him arrogant and wicked. Hence, I urge you to give Lankā
to your brother. Move to Kailāsh and live happily over there.’ Kuber took
the advice and Rāvana became the king of the affluent city of Lankā.5
It was this Lankā that awed Hanumāna when he first arrived on the
island. The city, located atop the Trikuta mountains, was surrounded by
beautiful forests, gardens in full bloom with all kinds of fruits and flowers,
lakes with ducks and swans, and deep moats filled with lotuses.
Impregnable golden walls enclosed the city. Dreadful looking rākshasas
manning the outer wall further strengthened its fortifications. The city,
bedecked with mountain-like white mansions and tall towers, appeared to
be floating in the sky.
Ensconced within the golden walls were multistorey houses, storehouses
and workshops. The houses, some seven- and eight-storeyed, were
constructed in auspicious shapes of lotuses and swastikas. They exuded
opulence with gem-studded floors, pillars of gold and diamond-studded
window lattices. The buildings were neatly lined up, close to each other.
Huge golden arches decorated the pathways. The city dazzled with
numerous lamps illuminating the houses. Sounds of laughter, musical
instruments and loud chatter resounded through them. Hanumāna could
hear the tinkle of ornaments of well-dressed maidens and the sounds of
footfalls on the stairs from the houses. From some, he also heard chanting
of Vedic mantras and from some others, drunken revelry. The inside of the
city was also well guarded, with spies in various disguises and armed
soldiers patrolling.
The Lankā that Hanumāna saw was hustling and bustling with activity.
The splendour of the city was no less than Indra’s Amrāvati!6
Other Prominent Cities and Places
✦ Mithilā—capital of Videha, ruled by Janaka
✦ Kekaya—city of Kaikeyi’s parents
✦ Siddhāshram—Rishi Vishvāmitra’s āshram
✦ Shringaverpur—Rāma’s good friend Nishādarāj Guha’s city
✦ Chitrakoot—Rāma, Seetā, Lakshmana’s first abode during their vanvās
✦ Panchavati—place from where Rāvana abducted Seetā
4
Vishvāmitra’s Quest
Dasharatha was pondering about the wedding of his sons when a royal
guard rushed in. ‘Mahārāja, Rishi Vishvāmitra seeks your audience,’ he
announced. Dasharatha was elated. He went to the door and escorted the
rishi to his royal court. After the customary courtesies, when everyone was
seated, Dasharatha expressed his joy at seeing Rishi Vishvāmitra. ‘Your
arrival here is as gratifying as the pouring of rain during a famine, as the
news of begetting a child through a deserving wife. What can I do for you?
It will be a matter of great fortune for me to be able to fulfil your wishes.
Your wish is my command. Let me know and I will get it done.’
Vishvāmitra was pleased with Dasharatha’s warm welcome. ‘I will tell
you what my desire is, may your words of fulfilling it be true. I have
undertaken a sankalpa of completing a major yajna. But I am not able to do
that because of two powerful rākshasas, Māreecha and Subāhu. They throw
pieces of raw flesh in my yajna vedi1 and disrupt the rituals. This has
happened many times, rendering all my efforts futile. Even though capable,
I am not inclined to punish them myself, as the act of retribution will impact
my sankalpa. To help guard my yajna, let your eldest son Rāma accompany
me for ten days. Under my protection, I am certain that Rāma is competent
enough to destroy the mischief mongers. For that, I will confer upon him
skills and strengths that will bring him fame in this world. I assure you of
Rāma’s safety, fret not. Do not let your fatherly love colour your decision.
In consultation with your ministers and the esteemed sages such as Rishi
Vashishtha, let me know your decision.’
Dasharatha was taken aback. Rāma was everything to him. His ātmā
resided in Rāma. For a few moments, he was dumbfounded. Then slowly
gathering his thoughts, he spoke, ‘But Rāma is only a child, not even
sixteen yet. He may not be ready to face the deadly rākshasas. It may not be
right to put Rāma in such a dangerous situation. I have a huge and capable
army. You may have that. I can come with you, too. I promise to fight the
two demons till my last breath. Who are these rākshasas that are causing
grief to you?’
‘Māreecha and Subāhu work under the protection of Rāvana and take
commands from him. Rāvana is born in the lineage of Rishi Pulastya. His
father is the great Rishi Vishrava. A boon from Brahma deva has made him
ruthless and arrogant. Where he doesn’t go, he sends his minions to cause
terror,’ informed Vishvāmitra.
Dasharatha was unnerved hearing the name of Rāvana, ‘Rāvana is way
too strong to be contained even by me. Not even devas can fight him.
Please have mercy on me and my son. I cannot send Rāma to fight these
rākshasas who are like the Lord of Death himself. I will come with you. I
promise to fight one of them with my army,’ pleaded Dasharatha.
Vishvāmitra was not pleased at all. He said rather sarcastically, ‘Did you
not promise that you will do as I wish? Now you are backtracking on your
words. This is quite unbecoming of the scion of Raghu’s vamsha. But if you
believe what you are doing is right, then so be it. I will leave as I had come.
May you be happy with your false oath.’
Sensing the fury of Rishi Vishvāmitra, Rishi Vashishtha intervened:
‘Dasharatha, you are known for your probity, truthfulness and honouring
your word. Call not infamy upon yourself by going back on your words.
Nobody knows Vishvāmitra the way I do. His tapasyā is immense. His
prowess is unfathomable. There is no weapon that he doesn’t have
knowledge of. Under his care, no harm can come to Rāma. He is very
capable of reining in the rākshasas himself. Yet, he seeks Rāma, not for
himself but for your son’s benefit out of his affection for him. Let Rāma
go.’
Vashistha’s words served as a balm to Dasharatha’s agitated mind. He
agreed to send both Rāma and Lakshmana with Rishi Vishvāmitra.2
Thus began a stint that was to prepare Rāma for the times to come.
The Journey to Siddhāshram
Vishvāmitra walked ahead and the boys followed him, carrying their bows
on their shoulders and a quiver of arrows on their backs. Resplendent
swords hung by their waist. There were no chariots waiting to drive them or
inviting soft beds for their rest. The journey to Siddhāshram, Vishvāmitra’s
āshram, involved a four-day trek, crossing many forests. But the boys did
not complain.
Rāma and Lakshmana were princes who had grown up amidst all
comforts and luxuries at their disposal. But now, as they accompanied
Vishvāmitra, they left behind all the comforts to live by his instructions.
Rāma and Lakshmana did not need to be told this; they were well trained by
Rishi Vashishtha in following the decorum and protocol of living with a
guru.
About a yojana-and-a-half outside of Ayodhyā, by the southern bank of
the Sarayu river, Vishvāmitra halted. He asked Rāma to sip some water
from the holy river and get ready to imbibe the knowledge of Balā and
Atibalā vidyā. These were powerful mantras by whose potency Rāma
would not feel any physical pain or mental fatigue when engaged in his
ordained tasks. The mantras would ensure Rāma would never be
overpowered by his enemies even when asleep or unaware. ‘There will be
no one on this earth comparable to you in strength or in wisdom. Neither
hunger nor thirst will ever cause trouble to you. O Rāma! Partake from me
this Balā–Atibalā vidyā, which is considered the mother of all knowledge,’
said Vishvāmitra as he proceeded to give this rare knowledge to the princes.
Balā–Atibalā Vidyā
Rishi Vishvāmitra imparted the Balā–Atibalā vidyā to Rāma and
Lakshmana. The vidyā was meant to make them immune to hunger, thirst,
sleep and fatigue while giving them immense strength and wisdom.
Rishi Vālmiki mentions the name of this potent knowledge in the
Rāmāyana but gives no details. More information about Balā–Atibalā
vidyā is found in an Upanishad related to Sāmaveda, the Savitri
Upanishad. The vidyā is essentially a mantra anushthān, which must be
undertaken only under the guidance of a capable guru.
The three of them spent that night by the banks of Sarayu. The princes of
Ayodhyā slept on the grass under the vast, open sky. Vishvāmitra treated
them with a lot of affection and the boys reciprocated with respect and
obedience.3
The rishi woke them up at dawn the next morning. The three of them
continued their journey. On the second evening, they halted in an āshram in
Angadesh4 by the confluence of the Sarayu and Gangā rivers. Vishvāmitra
narrated to them the legend about the name of the place and some other
stories before retiring for the day.
Venkatesh Suprabhatam
The shloka uttered by Rishi Vishvāmitra, as Rishi Vālmiki tells us, for
waking up Rāma is sung every morning in many Hindu households even
today. The shloka is:
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O Rāma, obtaining a son like you, Kaushalyā is considered the
fortunate one. Wake up, O lion among men, it is the break of dawn. May
you get your morning prayers and rituals done.5
A famous hymn ‘Venkatesh Suprabhatam Strotam’, has this shloka.
The strotam is prominently sung to wake up Bhagvān Venkateshwara
(Vishnu) in Tirupati Devasthānam.
Their journey on the third morning began from the banks of the Gangā.
Using a boat, they navigated the mighty river to reach its southern banks.
On the way, Rāma wanted to know why the water there created such loud
noises. His curiosity pleased the rishi who explained that they were at the
confluence of the two rivers Gangā and Sarayu and the turbulent noise was
created by the waters of the two rivers surging into each other with force.
On the other side of the Gangā, a dense and dangerous-looking forest
awaited them. It seemed bereft of any human settlement. Sounds of wild
animals, birds and insects reverberated through the forest. Vishvāmitra
recounted to the boys how the forest came to be.
Once upon a time, this place was home to two bustling and
prosperous cities, Maladā and Karushā. One fateful day, a
cannibal rākshasi named Tātakā cast her eyes on this place. She
possessed the strength of a thousand elephants, thanks to a boon
of Brahma deva. Māreecha, one of the rākshasas interrupting my
yajna, is her son. She wreaked havoc on the cities. She killed the
citizens for food, destroyed their homes and laid waste to this
entire region which eventually turned into a dense forest.
Then with some authority, Vishvāmitra said, ‘Rāma, Tātakā has devastated
this place and continues to do so till date. For making headway in the forest,
this wretched rākshasi deserves to be killed; slay her.’ Rāma was not sure
how he could kill Tātakā. She was a woman after all. Didn’t the scriptures
prohibit the killing of women and brāhmins? Vishvāmitra, as if reading
Rāma’s mind, exhorted him and said categorically:
You must harbour neither disgust nor doubt about killing a
woman like Tātakā. Being a prince, you must do what is in the
interest of all your subjects.6 For a king, the protection and
welfare of his citizens must be paramount. For the sake of his
people, a king should be willing to undertake any kind of action,
be it harsh or gentle, virtuous or apparently sinful. This is indeed
the dharma ordained for all those entrusted with the responsibility
of ruling kingdoms. So, hesitate not. Eliminate adharma by killing
this rākshasi. There is not an iota of dharma in her.
Rāma readied his bow to follow the rishi’s command and plucked its string
hard. The thunderous twang of the bow echoed through the forest startling
its inhabitants. Tātakā heard the sound too. Furious, she rushed in the
direction of the princes. Rāma saw Tātakā charging towards him and
quickly aimed his arrow at her. A gruesome duel followed. Tātakā was
strong and ferocious. She showered huge boulders and tree trunks on the
princes. Rāma hit her with his sharp arrows which hurt her no doubt but fell
short of killing her. Despite Vishvāmitra’s initial encouragement, Rāma
couldn’t get himself to slay Tātakā immediately. ‘This rākshasi is a woman
and I am not enthused to kill her. Instead, I will make her disabled, cutting
her limbs, nose and ears,’ said Rāma to Lakshmana. But Tātakā showed no
mercy on the princes. She brutally attacked them, resorting to her powers of
creating illusions.
Discerning that Rāma still had qualms about killing Tātakā, Vishvāmitra
encouraged him again. ‘Stop having mercy on this treacherous rākshasi.
Take her down before the sun sets. Else she will become invincible once it
starts becoming dark,’7 he told Rāma. Having got a taste of Tātakā’s
strength and brutality, Rāma firmed up his mind and wasted no more time.
He rained a volley of arrows on her. Injured and angry, the rākshasi rushed
towards the princes. Rāma then aimed at her chest and shot a deadly arrow.
The aim was perfect. The arrow tore apart Tātakā’s chest. She collapsed on
the ground, dead.
Vishvāmitra was pleased with Rāma’s achievement, more so with the
display of his valour and skills. They spent the night in the forest that
seemed to come alive after Tātakā’s death. The next morning, Vishvāmitra
bestowed upon Rāma many celestial weapons and the methods to summon
them. Having witnessed the duel between Rāma and Tātakā, the rishi felt
confident that Rāma was well-deserving and ready to handle these divine
but lethal weapons.8
The menace of Tātaka was removed. But the task for which Rāma and
Lakshmana had been brought was pending. The boys followed Vishvāmitra
onwards to Siddhāshram. This was their fourth day since leaving Ayodhyā.
On the way, Rāma wanted to know the history and significance of the place.
‘In the ancient past, Vishnu in his Vāmana avatār9 resided in
Siddhāshram for many years. I chose this place for my sankalpa due to my
bhakti for Vāmana,’ explained the rishi.
That evening they reached Siddhāshram. After a brief rest, Rāma and
Lakshmana politely conveyed to Vishvāmitra that he could consecrate the
yajna soon as they were geared up for the task of protecting it. Vishvāmitra
initiated the yajna. The yajna also involved maun vrata—vow of silence—
by the rishi for the duration of the ritual, that is, for six days and nights,
Vishvāmitra would not speak a single word and focus only on the yajna.
Rāma and Lakshmana had to safeguard the yajna from being disrupted and
ensure its completion.
Five days and nights went by peacefully. The sixth day dawned and the
chants of the Vedic mantras filled the air. Rāma cautioned Lakshmana about
the possibility of Subāhu and Māreecha attacking the yajna that day. As
Rāma was speaking, a deafening sound of thunder reverberated in the sky.
The princes became alert. Rāma spotted the two rākshasas and their
minions rushing towards the āshram, splashing streams of blood around.
‘Look Lakshmana, the man-eating rākshasas are here. I am going to chase
these cowards away just like a gush of wind dispels the clouds,’ exclaimed
Rāma.
He shot the powerful Mānavāstra10 at Māreecha. The power of the
weapon and the momentum of Rāma’s shot was such that Māreecha was
thrown into the sea a hundred yojanas away. The force of the blow rendered
him unconscious. For Subāhu, Rāma pulled out the fatal Agneyāstra and
shot at his chest. Subāhu collapsed dead, in an instant. Then, using the
Vayavyāstra, Rāma killed the remaining rākshasas who had accompanied
Subāhu and Māreecha.
With all the obstacles gone, Vishvāmitra completed his yajna.11
Destination Mithilā
Vishvāmitra’s sankalpa had been fulfilled. In return, Rāma had acquired
several valuable weapons and the techniques for operating them. But the
rishi wasn’t done yet. He had one more task to accomplish. His next
destination was Mithilā, to participate in a grand yajna being conducted by
Rājā Janaka of Videha. He asked the princes to accompany him. He told
them, ‘Janaka has a precious heirloom, a bow of Shiva. The bow is so
massive and heavy that even gods have not been able to string it, what to
say of men. Many kings have made attempts to lift it, in vain. You boys
should come along with me to Mithilā to see that bow and participate in the
yajna ceremony.’ They obeyed. On the way, Vishvāmitra kept the boys and
the rest of his entourage consisting of other disciples entertained with
stories and anecdotes. Before entering Mithilā, they made a brief stop at a
secluded āshram to get the darshan of Ahalyā Devi.
When Janaka heard of Vishvāmitra’s arrival in Mithilā, he, accompanied
by his purohit12 Rishi Shatānanda, rushed to welcome the celebrated rishi.
Janaka was curious to know more about the two handsome and strong
young men with the rishi. Vishvāmitra introduced the two princes of
Ayodhyā and narrated the happenings of the last few days. Shatānanda was
especially delighted to hear about Rāma and Lakshmana’s visit to his
mother, Ahalyā. He was the first-born child of Ahalyā and Rishi Gautama.
One day Vishvāmitra suggested to Janaka to let the princes have a look
at his heirloom—the Shiva Dhanush. Janaka sent for the bow to be brought
there. Meanwhile, Janaka told them about his dear daughter Seetā. He had
found Seetā in the womb of the earth while tilling the land for a religious
ritual. Overjoyed to get this gift from Mother Earth, Janaka decided then
that he would marry his precious daughter only to the person who could
string the divine bow of Shiva. That was his virya shulka for Seetā. ‘Since
Seetā has come of age,’ continued Janaka, ‘many kings desirous of
marrying her have attempted to string the bow but none have been able to
even move it. Some kings considered it an insult to their prowess and
besieged Mithilā. This siege lasted for over a year. Eventually, my army
chased them away. That bow which has been inaccessible to even the devas
and gandharvas, I will show to Rāma and Lakshmana now. If Rāma lifts the
bow and strings it, I will marry Seetā to him.’13
The Shiva Dhanush was brought in an eight-wheeled iron case. That it
took 5,000 well-built young men to pull the case gives an inkling of how
huge and heavy the bow was. With Vishvāmitra’s and Janaka’s consent,
Rāma opened the case and had a keen look at that most splendid bow. Then,
to everyone’s utter astonishment, Rāma held the bow from its centre, lifted
it and strung it, as if it was a child’s play. With the bow firmly in his hands,
Rāma, very simply, pulled the string towards his ears, as if shooting an
arrow. But his force was such that the mighty Shiva Dhanush broke into
two with a loud bang. The assembly was stunned! Janaka was euphoric. He
had found the most worthy match for his daughter by the blessings of
Shiva. He wasted no time in sending a messenger to Dasharatha to inform
him of the marriage and seek his permission as well as presence at the
wedding.
Thus, Seetā and Rāma were married, so were Urmilā–Lakshmana,
Māndavi–Bharata and Shrutakirti–Shatrughna.
Virya Shulka
Virya shulka literally means ‘valour or heroism as price’.
In ancient times, there were several types of marriages. In royal
kshatriya families, swayamvara was common. Here the girl chose the man
she liked from a group of assembled suitors. Another prevalent practice
was of virya shulka, in which potential bridegrooms had to take a
challenge designed to test their strength and valour. Sometimes the test of
strength was undertaken in a swayamvara setting. The suitors would
compete and the winner would take the bride home.
In the Mahābhārata, Drupad had a swayamvara organised for Draupadi,
but he had devised a challenge as well—a machine with a target was
suspended in the air. There was a small hole in the machine. The suitors
had to shoot five arrows through that hole and hit the target. In that sense,
Drupad had also set a virya shulka for his daughter.
Other kinds of shulkas were rājya shulka and dhana shulka. In rājya
shulka, the suitor had to make a commitment that only the girl’s son
would be the heir to the suitor’s kingdom. This was the condition laid
down by Dāsharāj for marrying his daughter Satyawati to Shāntanu,
Bhishma’s father.
It appears that Dasharatha may have made such a commitment to
Kaikeyi’s father at the time of their marriage. However, this is mentioned
only once in the Rāmāyana (Ayodhyā Kānda 2.107.3) by Rāma to Bharata
while convincing him to forgive his mother. There is no other reference of
either Kaikeyi or Mantharā or Bharata’s maternal family speaking about it
anywhere else in the epic.
Dhana shulka, also often referred to only as shulka, literally means
money or wealth as price. In some families, there was a tradition to take
money from the suitor before marrying the girl. This type of wedding is
also called ‘asura vivah’. Pandu was married to Mādri in this manner
according to the tradition in Madra.
In Rāmacharitmānas and Kamba Rāmāyana, we find an elaborate
description of Seetā’s grand swayamvara ceremony where many princes
came but failed in their attempt to gain her hand. There is also a beautiful
narration of Rāma and Seetā falling in love on seeing each other in a
garden before the swayamvara takes place. This part is not in Vālmiki’s
Rāmāyana.
Rishi Vashishtha was correct when he said Rishi Vishvāmitra did not seek
Rāma for any personal gain but had come for Rāma’s benefit. Through
Vishvāmitra, Dasharatha’s eldest son got acquainted with life in the forest,
was enriched with weapons and newer arts of warfare, and found a worthy
wife in Seetā. Most importantly, he received a practical lesson in Rāja
Dharma. These lessons would shape his future course of action.
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5
The Making of Vishvāmitra
Rishi Vishvāmitra wasn’t born as Vishvāmitra. In his past life, he was
Kaushika, an illustrious king of the Kusha dynasty. As the son of Gādhi, he
was also called Gādhiputra. Kaushika’s prowess and valour were known far
and wide. It is said the entire Bhāratavarsha was under his sway either
directly or through feudatory kings. Kaushika’s transformation into
Vishvāmitra is the stuff of legends, no less.
The story of Vishvāmitra was narrated to Rāma and Lakshmana in
Mithilā by Rishi Shatānanda, Janaka’s purohit. ‘There is nobody on earth
more fortunate than you Rāma, that this scion of Kusha is your benefactor.
His deeds are extraordinary and his brilliance unbounded. By his intense
tapasyā he has achieved the highest stature of Brahmarshi,’ Shatānanda had
lauded before proceeding to recount the extraordinary tale.
Brahmarshi
A rishi is one who attains realisation through knowledge and wisdom, as
prescribed in the Vedas and Upanishads.1 Typically, rishis lived an austere
life, having gained control over their senses (indriya-nigraha), involving
themselves in the study and teaching of shāstras, doing meditation,
conducting yajnas, chanting Vedic mantras and performing other activities
as prescribed in the scriptures, with the intent of the well-being and
happiness of all.2
Most rishis received royal patronage as they served as guides and
teachers to the king and presided over the rituals he performed.
Depending on the level of indriya-nigraha and corresponding siddhis
(supra-normal physical and mental abilities) attained by them, certain
appellations were used. In the increasing order of realisation and
accomplishment, these appellations were Rājarshi, Rishi, Mahārshi and
Brahmarshi.
Rājarshi was a king with the attributes of a sage, one who was solely
concerned with the well-being of his people and those who sought his
refuge and had himself risen above worldly material desires. A
Brahmarshi was at the top in the order. He was one who had realised
Brahma, the ultimate truth.3 He operated from the highest level of
consciousness and transcended the dualities of sorrow and joy, love and
hate, as well as impulses of lust, anger, greed, pride, delusions and
jealousy.
A Rude Awakening
Many years ago, King Kaushika reigned over a sprawling kingdom. He was
a noble and just king, liked by his subjects. Once he undertook a journey
across vast regions of the earth, taking along one akshauhini army.4 They
travelled for many days through forests, mountains, janapadas and āshrams,
crossing several rivers along the way. One day, he and his army reached the
āshram of Rishi Vashishtha.
Seeing the celebrated rishi, Kaushika prostrated at his feet. Vashishtha
welcomed the king with delight. After he was seated, Vashishtha enquired
of Kaushika, ‘Are you doing fine, O king? Are you ruling your kingdom in
a just manner and keeping your subjects satisfied? Are you taking good care
of your employees? Do they obey your orders? Have you vanquished your
enemies? Are your treasury, army and family in good health?’
Kaushika responded in the affirmative. Both of them had a pleasant
discussion for quite a while. Later, Rishi Vashishtha offered to host the
entire army of Kaushika. Kaushika was reluctant. He was aware that
feeding his huge army would be a difficult task for the rishi. But he gave in
to Vashishtha’s affectionate insistence.
Vashishtha called his mottled cow, Shabalā. Shabalā was Kāmdhenu, the
wish-fulfilling cow. The rishi respectfully requested, ‘I have offered to host
the king and his army. Please arrange a feast for the royal entourage.
Shower us with the most delectable of foods.’ Instantly, Shabalā started
presenting every kind of drink and delicacy that the guests could possibly
wish for. The army feasted to its heart’s content. Kaushika looked on in
amazement.5
Soon it was time to leave. Kaushika approached Vashishtha with a
proposition. ‘My army and I are extremely grateful for your generous
hospitality. I have an offer to make to you. I will give you a hundred
thousand cows in lieu of Shabalā. Let me have her. In a way, she rightfully
belongs to me.’ Rishi Vashishtha was a little taken aback. He politely
refused. ‘Shabalā cannot be separated from me. Not for a hundred thousand
cows nor a hundred crore or any other form of wealth can I give her to you.
The fulfilment of my sacred rituals is dependent on her. She is everything to
me.’
Kaushika thought Vashishtha was looking for a bargain, so he upped his
offer, adding fully decked elephants, golden chariots, horses of the best
breeds and lavish amounts of gems and gold. But the rishi was not open to
any negotiation. ‘Shabalā is my wealth; she is my life; I will not part with
her,’ he asserted.6
Not used to hearing a ‘no’, Kaushika decided to take the cow by force.
He began to drag the visibly unwilling and upset Shabalā away. The cow,
using all her strength, pulled herself free from him and ran towards the
helpless rishi. The king’s soldiers began pulling her again. This time, she
made a loud sound of ‘moo’. From that sound emerged a group of fierce
warriors. The warriors began to slay Kaushika’s soldiers. They even killed
his sons. His army was no match for these warriors. Kaushika returned to
his kingdom, embarrassed and shocked. He lost his will to rule. Handing
over the kingdom to his only surviving son, Kaushika headed to the
Himālayas, determined to serve and please Shiva.
His tapasyā bore fruit. Shiva manifested to grant him a boon. ‘What do
you seek, Kaushika?’ Shiva asked. ‘Let all the best techniques of warfare
and all the weapons in the universe come to me,’ requested Kaushika. ‘So
be it,’ blessed Shiva and disappeared. Kaushika was beaming. He thought
he was now invincible. No army could defeat him. Armed with his
newfound strength and hubris, he attacked Vashishtha’s āshram and began
razing it to the ground. The disciples and the animals ran helter-skelter,
trying to save their lives.
Vashishtha was now furious. ‘You have destroyed this āshram which was
so lovingly built by me. Your stupidity and wickedness will surely destroy
you,’ thundered the rishi as he lifted his danda which was as powerful as the
Yama-danda—the baton of the lord of death. With the strength of his
tapasyā, he not only repelled Kaushika’s attack but also destroyed all his
weapons.
Kaushika was humiliated once again. That he, the king who was feared
by one and all, was no match for an unarmed rishi came as a rude shock to
him. ‘Darned be all my kshatriya-balam, my warrior prowess. The real
strength is what Vashishtha has, his brahma-balam. I will also undertake
intense penance and achieve the power that comes with becoming
Brahmarshi,’ declared Kaushika and went away.
Brahma-Balam
The out-of-ordinary physical and mental vigour of a Brahmarshi due to
complete control over all senses, mind and intellect is referred to as
‘brahma-balam’. The strongest of warriors and the best of weapons can do
no harm to such a person. A Brahmarshi can burn an opponent to ashes
with the heat of his own innate strength. A Brahmarshi is also intuitively
discerning of when to use his powers and when not to. Even his anger has
a larger purpose.
Trishanku’s Desire
The loss at the hands of Vashishtha had left Kaushika agitated. Determined
to take his revenge after acquiring equivalent prowess, he headed
southwards with his queen and plunged himself into deep tapasyā,
subsisting only on fruits and roots. His effort succeeded and Brahma deva
appeared to him. ‘You have achieved the stature of Rājarshi. Hereby I
proclaim you as one,’ he said and left. Kaushika was embarrassed and
dejected. ‘All this effort and all I could gain is Rājarshi-hood,’ he thought,
but he was not the one to give up. He doubled down on his tapasyā.
At the time when Kaushika was deep in tapasyā, there lived another king
named Trishanku. He desired to go to heaven before his death. He wanted
to enter heaven with his earthly body. Trishanku approached Rishi
Vashishtha to sanctify a yajna that could make it happen. Vashishtha
refused, saying such a feat was not possible. Trishanku took his request to
Vashishtha’s sons. They too declined to oblige Trishanku and even berated
him for seeking other rishis when Rishi Vashishtha had discouraged him
from the deed.
Trishanku reached out to Kaushika and told him of his desire as well as
the rejection by Vashishtha and his sons. Kaushika recognised this as a great
opportunity to use his newfound powers and position himself as a more
accomplished rishi than Vashishtha. He agreed to conduct a grand yajna for
Trishanku and sent invitations to many other rishis, including Vashishtha’s
sons, to participate in the yajna. Vashishtha’s sons scoffed at the invitation.
Kaushika was infuriated by the insult. Using the power accrued through his
penance, he cursed them with death.
Scared of his wrath, the other rishis obeyed him and sanctified
Trishanku’s yajna. But that didn’t seem to work. The devas refused to be
complicit in something that violated the law of nature. This made Kaushika
even more furious and determined to send Trishanku to heaven in his
earthly body. As this deed wasn’t welcome in the existing heaven, Kaushika
decided he would create a new heaven for Trishanku. He did that. Kaushika
created an artificial heaven for Trishanku and established him there with his
earthly body.7
This entire incident, however, had disrupted Kaushika’s tapasyā. He
headed to Pushkar to start again.
The Lure of Lust
Once again, Kaushika began practising intense austerities. After a few
years, Brahma deva came once again to bless him. ‘You have achieved
Rishi-hood,’ he said. Brahmarshi-hood still appeared out of reach. Kaushika
stayed in Pushkar, continuing his tapasyā. Then one day, a woman of
unmatched beauty, the celestial nymph Menakā, arrived in Pushkar for a
bath. Kaushika’s eyes fell on her. A shiver of excitement ran through his
body. Overcome with lust, he approached the lady. Attracted by the
resplendent Rishi Kaushika, she acquiesced.
Both spent over ten years in each other’s company, till one day it dawned
upon Kaushika that he had lost both time and merit accrued through years
of tapasyā. In spite of all the strengths he had attained through his tapasyā,
he had failed to achieve control over his lust. The realisation made him
sorrowful and repentant. His heavy sighs scared Menakā. Kaushika looked
at her affectionately and asked her to take leave. Menakā was disappointed
but she knew this day would come. She too wasn’t meant to stay forever.
Menakā left.
With a firm resolve to overcome the hold of lust, Kaushika went to the
north, settled by the banks of the River Kaushiki and took up even more
intense meditation and penance. Many years went by. Kaushika resolutely
continued his penance. Finally, Brahma deva came and said, ‘I am very
pleased with your unfailing commitment. I bestow upon you Mahārshi-
hood. You have now achieved prominence among rishis.’ Kaushika bowed
down to the deva with folded hands: ‘Pitāmaha, through the merits I have
accrued, if you confer upon me the stature of Brahmarshi, I will consider
that I have achieved control over my senses.’ Brahma deva smiled. ‘You
haven’t achieved that completely yet, son. Continue with your efforts,’ he
said.8
The Anger Impulse
Kaushika resumed his penance, making it even more intense. This time he
meditated standing up, with his hands raised over his head. He gave up all
kinds of food and survived only on air. Come rain, come heat, come cold,
Kaushika persisted. The devas were disturbed by the fervour of Kaushika’s
tapasyā. Indra, asked Rambhā, a celestial nymph of immaculate beauty, to
go near the rishi and distract him. Rambhā did as told. Seeing Rambhā,
Kaushika smelled mischief. He understood that it was an attempt to hinder
his efforts. Mad with anger, he pronounced a curse on Rambhā.
As soon as he had uttered the curse, the words of Brahma deva flashed in
his mind. You haven’t achieved control over your senses completely, he had
said. His angry utterance made Kaushika realise that he was still far away
from gaining control over his anger. All his hard work in the past had
amounted to zilch because of his failure to restrain his anger. He was
flustered. But he was not going to give up. He resolved to never give in to
anger or speak any untoward words out of anger. He also resolved to
conquer every single impulse of his—be it emotions or bodily needs like
hunger, thirst and even breathing. ‘Come what may, I will not give up till I
have achieved complete self-restraint,’ Kaushika proclaimed.9
He went eastwards and began his tapasyā again. His tapasyā went on for
many years and throughout he maintained a vow of silence. Many obstacles
and challenges came his way, but Kaushika remained steadfast. The
stipulated time ended. Kaushika had accomplished the impossible. A
sankalpa of such proportion had not been undertaken before, nor would it
be repeated ever again by anyone else. There was not an iota of anger left in
him.
At the end of his tapasyā, after many years of fasting, he finally prepared
some food and was about to eat his first morsel, when Indra came seeking
food, disguised as a brāhmin to test Kaushika’s resolve. Kaushika did not
flinch nor resist. Very calmly he handed over his food to the guest and stood
silently as the guest ate. Kaushika was resplendent, exuding a divine aura.
The world seemed to have dulled before his radiance.
All the devas conceded that Kaushika had transcended lust, anger and
other such impulses, and had achieved complete control over his senses.
There was no trace of impurity or ill-will in him. He had truly transformed
into a Brahmarshi. The resplendence was the splendour of his brahma-
balam. Brahma deva arrived and bestowed upon him Brahmarshi-hood. He
also proclaimed that from then on, Kaushika would be known in the world
as Vishvāmitra, the friend of the world.
Kaushika was happy, but he had one final request. ‘May the best of the
sages, Brahmarshi Vashishtha himself, acknowledge that I have become a
Brahmarshi.’ Vashishtha came and was delighted to see the transformed
Kaushika. ‘There is not a doubt that you indeed have become a Brahmarshi;
all the wisdom will come to you in accordance with your status,’ said
Vashishtha. Vishvāmitra bowed down to Vashishtha reverentially.
Kaushika had embarked on a journey to seek revenge on Vashishtha but
now, as Vishvāmitra, no jealousy, no anger, no sense of revenge remained in
his heart.10
When Vashishtha had assured Dasharatha in the court the day he came to
seek Rāma that he knew Vishvāmitra well, he had spoken the truth. No one
knew Vishvāmitra as Vashishtha did—Vashishtha was the cause of
Vishvāmitra’s transformation!
Real strength lies in conquering our base instincts of lust, anger, greed, attachment,
pride and jealousy. Real power lies not in doing as we desire but in making our
senses and desires subservient to our wisdom, in acting as we should rather than as
we like. Real freedom lies in unshackling ourselves from the bondage of likes and
dislikes.
The Rigvedic Gāyatri Mantra, one of the most sacred Vedic mantras for
Hindus, is attributed to Rishi Vishvāmitra. He is considered as drashtā—
the seer of the Gāyatri mantra.
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6
Ahalyā
The journey of the princes of Ayodhyā with Vishvāmitra and his disciples
from Siddhāshram to Mithilā was a lesson in history and geography.
Vishvāmitra instructed the young boys using stories of Samudra Manthan—
the churning of the ocean—the origin of various rivers and the
establishment of different cities on their shores. Along the way, they
stopped at several places—one night by the banks of Sona, another by the
banks of the Gangā. They spent the third night in the city of Vishālā. On the
fourth day, they reached Mithilā. But before entering the city, in a grove that
they were crossing, Rāma saw an āshram, old and abandoned. He wanted to
know more about it.
‘Let me tell you all about how this āshram came to be accursed,’ said the
rishi and proceeded to tell him the story of Ahalyā—a story of a momentary
lapse of judgement, of the subsequent catharsis and the eventual
transformation, no less fascinating than the story of the making of
Vishvāmitra himself!
Janaka’s purohit, Rishi Shatānanda, was the eldest son of this lady
Ahalyā and her husband Rishi Gautama.
Once upon a time, said Vishvāmitra, this was the celebrated āshram of Rishi
Gautama and his wife Ahalyā. The rishi undertook many great austerities
here. Ahalyā was a very attractive lady, true to her name, which means
‘without any deformity’,1 that is, one of immaculate beauty. Her elegance
was known far and wide. Even Indra couldn’t help but desire her youthful
charms. He was waiting for a chance to lure Ahalyā.
The opportunity came when Rishi Gautama was away from the āshram
one day. Indra, disguised as Gautama, entered Ahalyā’s room. ‘O lady
endowed with such fine limbs, I desire your indulgence,’ he said directly,
without mincing any words. Ahalyā recognised Indra even in his disguise.
Ahalyā was excited and even curious that Indra himself desired her—how
could she refuse? The excitement impulse caused a lapse of judgement.
Ahalyā willingly gave in to Indra’s desire.
Then, feeling content and realising that Gautama could be back soon, she
said, ‘Surashrestha,2 I am gratified by consenting to your wish. Now please
leave as soon as possible and protect me from Gautama’s wrath.’ Indra
smiled: ‘I am extremely satisfied and will go away as quickly as I came.’
Indra tried to rush out, but Gautama had arrived and spotted him by then. It
didn’t take Gautama long to put two and two together. He realised what had
transpired in his absence. Indra had desired a lady who was someone else’s
wife and his wife had been unfaithful.
Gautama looked at Indra, burning with anger. Indra was already
shivering with fear. Gautama pronounced a curse on Indra: ‘You took my
form and did what shouldn’t have been done. That is why you will become
impotent from now on.’ As soon as the words were spoken by Gautama,
Indra’s testicles fell off.
From his wife, Gautama sought atonement.3 ‘May you live here in
seclusion, unseen by the world, engaged in intense tapasyā, fasting and
surviving only on air. One day Rāma, the son of Dasharatha, will arrive in
this āshram. When that happens and when you have welcomed him,
cleansed of your greed and delusions, you will unite back with me.’ Saying
so, Gautama walked out of the āshram to live in the Himālayas.4
Indra had to eventually get new testicles. Testicles of a ram were
implanted on him.
Vishvāmitra continued, ‘Come along to this āshram of Gautama and redeem
Ahalyā, who resides here in the form of the goddess5 herself.’ Rāma and
Lakshmana followed Vishvāmitra into the āshram. There they saw her,
shining bright, illumined by the radiance of her tapasyā. It was impossible
to look at her—just like we cannot stare at the intense light of the sun
reflected from a pool of water. Her aura was like that of a full moon shining
from behind a cloak of fog.
The arrival of Rāma marked the success of Ahalyā’s tapasyā. Rāma and
Lakshmana bowed down and touched her feet reverentially. Ahalyā
welcomed them. While Rāma and Lakshmana were in the āshram accepting
Ahalyā’s hospitality, they heard some steps approaching them and then
Gautama appeared at the door. He had kept his word. So had Ahalyā. They
were both united once again in their nuptial bond.
Unless we consciously make an effort, it is only human to be vulnerable to
the lures of the senses. But to become aware of the vulnerability and strive
to overcome it is what makes a person inspire reverence. Who knew this
better than Vishvāmitra? No wonder, he had such high regard for Ahalyā.
He addressed her as Devarupini—goddess-like—and encouraged the boys
to touch her feet as a mark of respect. When Shatānanda was informed
about Rāma meeting his mother, he was joyous. He referred to his mother
with utmost piety, calling her Mahātejā—superbly radiant—
and Yashasvini—the glorious one.
It is only apt that Ahalyā is celebrated as one of the five illustrious
women of Indian epics—the Panchakanyā.6
Ahalyā in Popular Depiction
Popular retellings of the Rāmāyana depict Ahalyā as being tricked by
Indra into submitting to his desires. She is also shown as becoming a
stone from Gautama’s curse and is liberated only when Rāma touches the
stone with his foot.
As we see from the story here, the depiction in Vālmiki Rāmāyana is
different and much more reverential to Ahalyā. She gave in to Indra
willingly. And willingly lived through her atonement and tapasyā,
mastering her senses, just like Vishvāmitra had.
Some narrations also depict Indra escaping scot-free and only Ahalyā
being punished by Gautama. But as we see in Vālmiki Rāmāyana, Indra is
7
The Descent of Gangā
En route to Mithilā, among many stories Rishi Vishvāmitra narrated to the
princes of Ayodhyā was one that traced the descent of the mighty Gangā on
earth. He recounted this story one evening on the banks of the Gangā. This
story was important because of the multi-generational effort put in by
Rāma’s ancestors in making this grand phenomenon take place.
Bhāratavarsha will remain forever indebted to the kings of the Ikshvāku
lineage for Rāma and for Gangā. To this day we reap the benefits of their
enterprise.
How was a task of such gigantic magnitude achieved?
The Search for a Horse
Sagar was a renowned king of the Ikshvāku dynasty who ruled around
twenty generations before Rāma. He had two wives. Through one, he had a
son called Asamanja. Sagar banished him from the kingdom due to his cruel
ways. Through his other wife, he had 60,000 sons, thanks to the boon of an
esteemed rishi.
Once Sagar initiated a grand Ashwamedha Yajna in which a horse of a
good breed was allowed to traverse whatever path it wished. The horse was
followed by an army of the king. In whichever kingdom the horse set its
foot in, the host had to either fight the army or accept the sovereignty of the
king.
This Ashwamedha Yajna of Sagar made Indra uncomfortable. Sagar was
already a very powerful king. The successful completion of the yajna would
make him almost invincible. Hence, afraid of losing his status, Indra stole
the horse. Sagar sent his sons to search for the horse and get the yajna
completed to avoid demerit. The sons looked everywhere, but couldn’t find
it.
They began digging the earth, hoping to unearth the horse from
underneath. Finally, they found the horse loitering around in a place where
an accomplished sage named Kapil was seated in deep meditation. The
sons, believing Rishi Kapil was the culprit, tried to capture him. Enraged,
the rishi burnt them down with the power of his tapasyā. The sons were
reduced to ashes instantly.
When Sagar received the news, he was shaken. He sent his grandson
Anshumān, Asamanja’s son, to confirm the news, bring the horse back and
do jaladāna—a ritual offering of water to the dead done to ensure the safe
journey of the ātmā beyond the earthly abode—for his dead uncles.
Anshumān got the horse back but couldn’t do the jaladāna as there was no
water around the place where the ashes were lying.
The only way jaladāna could be performed for his sons, Sagar was told,
was by getting Gangā to descend on earth and flow into the region dug by
his sons, where they now lay dead. The task wasn’t a trivial one.
The Effort
Deliberating on the idea of making Gangā descend to the earth, Sagar ruled
for many years. Then handing over his throne to his grandson Anshumān,
he went to the Himālayas and undertook an intense tapasyā for Gangā.
After his death, Anshumān followed suit. Dilip, Anshumān’s son, also did
tapasyā for many years, but the goal was very far away. Bhageeratha,
Dilip’s son, did not wait to retire and then undertake the tapasyā for Gangā.
He went to the Himālayas soon after ascending the throne and started his
efforts. After many years of intense penance, Brahma deva appeared and
said, ‘Appease Shiva, my boy. The momentum of Gangā is such that the
earth will not be able to hold it. To avoid deluge, request Shiva to hold her
in his locks and allow a smooth landing.’
Bhageeratha did as he was told. Shiva was pleased with Bhageeratha’s
dedication. He allowed Gangā to descend on his head. The matted locks of
Shiva were so dense that Gangā got lost in them. Bhageeratha had to
appease Shiva once again to convince him to provide Gangā with a way
out. Shiva consented and Gangā came out of his matted hair, jumping and
gurgling like a happy young girl. The impossible had been achieved. But
the objective was yet to be attained. Gangā had to reach where the ashes of
Sagar’s sons were lying.
Bhageeratha made the way and Gangā followed. Somewhere along the
way, her flow was obstructed by a king named Jahnu who was conducting a
yajna. On Bhageeratha’s pleadings, Jahnu made way for her, and Gangā
began to flow once again, tracing Bhageeratha’s path. Eventually, she
arrived at the place of the ashes of Sagar’s sons. Gangā rushed in, filling the
entire area with her sacred waters. Bhageeratha performed jaladāna for his
ancestors and completed the enterprise initiated by Sagar.
Because Bhageeratha brought her down from the Himālayas, Gangā got
the name Bhageerathi. Because Jahnu eventually cleared her obstructed
flow, making her emerge once again, Gangā is also called Jāhnavi.
Because the large expanse of land dug by Sagar’s sons was filled by the
waters of Gangā, turning the expanse into a sea, a sea in Sanskrit is also
called sāgar, that is, one that came to be due to Sagar.
The place from where Gangā emerges from the Himālayas and reaches the
earth is a sacred teertha, a place of religious importance, for Hindus. This is
situated around 18 km uphill from Gangotri and is called Gomukh. Gomukh
literally means ‘the mouth of the earth’. It is a small opening underneath a
mountain of snow-capped peaks from where the Gangā comes rushing out,
as you can see in the picture.
Img. 1 Gomukh
Img. 2 Bhageerathi peaks
The peaks of the Himālayan range underneath which the Gangā emerges
have been named Bhageerathi peaks, visible in the second picture. The
author had the good fortune to see Gomukh for herself in 2019.
Decoding the Imagery
Many people have explained the story of Gangā’s descent as an imagery
of a real phenomenon. The interpretation is as follows:
During Sagar’s reign, a widespread drought affected the kingdom. The
only way to address the calamity was by finding a new source of water.
Hence, the search for Gangā began. The project was started by Sagar and
was carried forward by his successors. Immense efforts went into carrying
out the geological and topological study of the region around the
Himālayas to identify a possible source of water. This search led them to
glacier lakes in the upper regions of the Himalāyas.
Once the source was located, the challenge was getting the water from
the upper regions down to the lower regions in a way that it did not come
crashing down. This feat was achieved by Bhageeratha by identifying an
opening at the foothill of the Himālayas. He found a way to ensure a
smooth landing of Gangā from such heights and made a way for her to
eventually enter the sea after travelling a long distance through the plains.
The task undertaken by the ancestors of Rāma was a multi-generational
infrastructure and engineering project taken to its completion by
Bhageeratha. Bhageeratha’s feat is an engineering marvel, no less.1
‘A Herculean task’ is a phrase used to describe something extremely
difficult to achieve. The equivalent phrase in Indic literature is ‘Bhageerathi
prayāsa’.
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8
A Twist of Fate
With the marriages of the four princes—Rāma, Lakshmana, Bharata and
Shatrughna—Dasharatha had fulfilled his role as a father, but an important
duty as the king of Kosala was yet to be discharged. Age was fast catching
up with him and the successor to Ayodhyā’s throne had to be announced.
One day, a few years after the marriage of the princes, he began thinking
about his heir.
Dasharatha loved all his sons equally. They were virtuous and wise.
Rāma, however, held a special place in the king’s heart. Rāma was a warrior
par excellence; he was equally well-read in scriptures. He understood the
nuances of finances as much as those of arts and modes of entertainment. In
fact, he was adept in music and art. He was often referred to as Gāndharva
shreshtha.1
Unperturbed in any situation, Rāma had a complete grip on his emotions.
No one could make out the thoughts in his head from his face. It was
difficult to not like Rāma. The people of Ayodhyā loved him. He was as
approachable as he was discerning. But that didn’t mean he was always
soft. He was aware of the value of anger in public life and knew how to use
it. Rāma was very perceptive about his own self and of others. An eloquent
speaker and a master strategist, he was also an expert negotiator. He
understood the importance of time and place in policy and behaviour.2
Dasharatha wished to see Rāma as the king of Kosala after him. But as a
king he was accountable to his subjects, so he had to get the approval of his
people before handing over their fate to a new king.
The Deliberations
Dasharatha called for a meeting of his ministers, officers, feudatory kings
and prominent citizens dwelling in the cities as well as villages, to
deliberate on the succession to the throne of Ayodhyā. As he was in a hurry
to decide, he did not invite the kings of Kekaya and Mithilā. Once decided,
they would know the good news soon, he thought. Kekaya was the maternal
kingdom of his queen Kaikeyi, and Mithilā was the home of the in-laws of
his sons. Dasharatha possibly wanted to avoid any interference from family
that could have a conflict of interest while making such an important
decision for his state.3 At that time, Bharata and Shatrughna were in
Kekaya.
In the meeting, once everyone was seated, Dasharatha addressed them,
‘Just like the previous kings of the Ikshvāku dynasty, I have endeavoured,
to the best of my abilities, to nurture this kingdom of my ancestors, like a
father sustains and nourishes his children. Engaged earnestly in the welfare
of my kingdom, this body of mine has now become old. I wish to rest now.
Hence, with your permission, I am eager to hand over the reign of Ayodhyā
to my eldest son Rāma and retire. Rāma, I believe, has all the qualities that
will make him a capable administrator. But this is just my preference. If you
believe that there are other people who are more capable, please make your
thoughts known. Consider all the pros and cons of the situation at hand and
then decide.’
As soon as the king had said these words, a wave of joy spread through
the assembly. Everyone unanimously welcomed Dasharatha’s decision to
appoint Rāma as his heir. But Dasharatha wanted to be doubly sure of the
will of his citizens. ‘This unanimous agreement makes me suspicious. Are
you agreeing just because I proposed it or do you genuinely believe Rāma is
the most suitable person to reign over this kingdom that I have governed so
righteously? Please elaborate why you think he is an apt choice,’ he said.
Many people responded with their views:
‘Rāma is intelligent and virtuous. In wisdom, he is as good as Brihaspati,
the guru of devas; in valour, he compares to Indra; he is forgiving like the
earth and cool like the sweet rays of the moon; by his actions and
engagements, Rāma strives for the happiness of the people of the kingdom.’
‘He has a strong character and a stable intellect. Always polite, he is
compassionate towards one and all. He inspires trust due to his commitment
to truth. He never acts out of impulse.’
‘He respects the learned and the elders. He keeps the company of the
wise and reveres them as a prince should.’
‘Rāma is an expert in warfare. There is no weapon that he doesn’t excel
in. His proficiency in music is also unmatched. He is generous and has
profound intellect. He knows when to punish and when to forgive.’
‘There hasn’t been an operation that he hasn’t successfully
accomplished. When he returns to Ayodhyā after having protected the
borders and warding off enemies, he inquires of the citizens as he would of
his own family. In that, he doesn’t forget to ask about the welfare of the
women, children and house-helps. In need, he stands by his people. On
joyous occasions, he heartily celebrates with them.’
‘His anger and favour are not without a reason or purpose. He rightfully
kills those who deserve to be killed. But he never targets those who are
innocent and not worthy of being killed.’
‘Because of his virtues and his personality, Rāma is loved by one and all.
Even the women of this kingdom, young and old, pray for his well-being
every day. Your coronating Rāma will fulfil the wish of all the citizens of
Kosala.’
One by one, the people present in the court put forth their reasons for
supporting Dasharatha’s proposal. Thus, it was agreed that Rāma, indeed,
would be the next king of Ayodhyā.4
Dasharatha requested Rishi Vashishtha and Rishi Vāmadeva to begin
preparations for the coronation. Vashishtha and Vāmadeva got to the task
immediately, giving instructions for the things to be done and people to be
invited to the ceremony. Dasharatha then called Rāma and informed him of
the coronation. ‘Dear son, given your virtues, you are fit to become the next
king of Ayodhyā. Hence, we have decided to coronate you as the crown
prince of this kingdom on the auspicious day of pushya nakshtra.5 You are
naturally inclined to dharma, but I wish to share a few thoughts with you so
that you always remain humble and alert,’ said Dasharatha and then went
on to give valuable lessons to Rāma.6
1. Never let anger and lust drive your actions.
2. Always be aware of minute details of your kingdom directly by talking to
people and indirectly through your spies.
3. Ensure your treasury is always full. Use your wealth to nourish your
ministers, officers, allies and citizens.
4. Always put up your best behaviour, keeping your impulses in check.
Rāma bowed to the king and went to see his mother Kaushalyā to inform
her about Dasharatha’s decision. The news had already reached Kaushalyā.
Her heart was filled with unadulterated joy.
When all the citizens and allies had left, Dasharatha got his council of
ministers together once again to discuss the plan of action for the
coronation. He was informed that pushya nakshatra was the next day itself.
Dasharatha was in a hurry to formally appoint Rāma as the crown prince.
His intuition seemed to suggest an ominous event in the future. He wanted
to complete the ceremony before any calamity struck. He decided to hold
the coronation the next day itself instead of waiting for the next auspicious
day and called for Rāma once again.
On seeing his eldest son, Dasharatha was overcome with affection. He
hugged Rāma tenderly and, as if confiding his fears in him, said, ‘I have
lived a very fulfilling life till now. I have only one task left to complete and
that is crowning you as the king of this kingdom according to the wishes of
the people. For the past few days, I have been seeing bad dreams and
observing inauspicious omens. Our jyotishis tell me that my birth nakshatra
has been afflicted of late. Hence, I want to perform the coronation
immediately before my mind is deluded, and you should support me in
getting it done. Today the moon is in punarvasu nakshatra and tomorrow it
will be in pushya. Therefore, we’ll get the ceremony done tomorrow itself.
Spend the night today undertaking a fast, along with Seetā as prescribed for
the ritual, and get ready for tomorrow.’
‘I believe it would be appropriate to get over with this function before
Bharata returns from Kekaya. Not that I doubt Bharata’s intentions. Your
brother is a man of virtue, and he idolises you. But sometimes the mind can
be very fickle and can beguile even otherwise noble people,’ added
Dasharatha, his heart ill at ease. He had a premonition of something
untoward happening. What ‘untoward’ would look like, he knew not—not
then, at least.7
The Connivance
Rāma and Seetā got busy with the preparations as did everyone else in the
city. The entire city of Ayodhyā had come alive and all the temples, palaces,
homes and public spaces were being decorated for the ceremony the next
day.
The news of Rāma’s coronation reached Mantharā, an elderly handmaid
of Kaikeyi. She had been with Kaikeyi since she was a small child and had
accompanied her to Ayodhyā after her marriage to Dasharatha. The news
rattled Mantharā. She rushed to Kaikeyi’s palace and found her resting on
her bed. ‘Wake up, you naïve woman. Calamity befalls you and here you
are happily lying down, unaware and unconcerned. You behave as if you
are the beloved of your husband and boast of your good fortune. But you
are like a river who is about to go dry in summer. Your husband comes to
you and talks sweet words to amuse you but does only that which is to
Kaushalyā’s liking. If Rāma becomes the king, can you imagine what will
happen to Bharata and his future? He will become a non-entity in this
dynasty,’ exclaimed Mantharā angrily as she informed Kaikeyi of the
intended crowning of Kaushalyā’s son.
To Mantharā’s utter surprise, Kaikeyi was delighted with the news.
Kaikeyi loved Rāma as much as she loved Bharata. Rāma too loved and
respected her as he loved Kaushalyā. Kaikeyi jumped with joy, ‘Mantharā,
you couldn’t have given me better news. Rāma is as much my son as
Bharata is. Rāma has all the qualities of being an able king. He is the eldest
son, and I am certain he will look after his brothers as a father would. I am
so happy to learn about the king’s decision. Ask me for a gift you like, and I
will give it to you.’8
Kaikeyi’s composed response flustered Mantharā even more. Letting out
an exasperated sigh, she said, ‘Out of your stupidity, you can’t see the
catastrophe brewing. Once Rāma gets the throne, his progeny will succeed
him. Bharata and his children will get nothing and will be deprived of the
wealth and prosperity of the Ikshvākus. Rāma may banish him from the
kingdom, or possibly even get him killed. Bharata is the only one from
whom Rāma has any fear of losing the kingdom. Lakshmana and
Shatrughna are too young to make a claim anyway. Don’t we have to be
careful of those who consider us a threat? There is only one way to secure
your well-being—seek the throne for Bharata and get Rāma banished to the
forest.’
Kaikeyi’s expressions had begun to change. Observing that her words
were having an impact, Mantharā continued, ‘Forget not, a stepbrother is as
good as an enemy. Since Bharata was a child, he has spent more time in
Kekaya than here, so there is little chance that Rāma has any affection
towards him, unlike Lakshmana, who has always been close and loyal to
Rāma. Hence Rāma will not harm Lakshmana but there is no such bonding
with Bharata. Don’t you remember, in the hubris of being the beloved of the
king, how you have often mocked Kaushalyā? Now Kaushalyā is all set to
become the mother of the future king. Will she not avenge her insults?
Kaushalyā is going to have the last laugh while you rue over your and
Bharata’s misfortune.’9
Now Mantharā had struck a raw spot. She had instigated Kaikeyi’s
motherly insecurities and a co-wife’s jealousies. These emotions got the
better of Kaikeyi. She couldn’t possibly let Kaushalyā win. She couldn’t let
Bharata be deprived of royal privileges. Dasharatha had indeed deceived
her. She was his favourite. Wasn’t she who he spent the most time with?
And here he was favouring Kaushalyā over her when it mattered the most.
Kaikeyi started burning with anger. She was determined to get what she
thought was rightfully hers.
But how could she convince Dasharatha to do her bidding? Mantharā
reminded Kaikeyi of the two boons conferred upon her by the king once
when she had saved his life in a battle when he was severely injured. The
king had asked Kaikeyi to seek whatever she wished for, and he would
make it happen. Kaikeyi hadn’t asked for anything then. There couldn’t be a
better time to put those boons to use!
‘You had told me about these boons. I have cherished them in my
thoughts because of my love for you, even though you have forgotten them.
Now make the best of those boons. Use one to get the kingdom for Bharata
and the other to banish Rāma to the forest,’ Mantharā coaxed.
‘Once Bharata gets the throne my job is done. Why send Rāma to the
forest?’ asked Kaikeyi.
‘The people of Ayodhyā love Rāma. If he stays before their eyes, they
will not be able to accept Bharata. With Rāma out of sight, Bharata will be
able to carve out a place for himself in their hearts and consolidate his
power,’ reasoned Mantharā. ‘Now remove your ornaments, rub out your
make-up and wait for the king in the krodhāgār10 and when he comes, do
not look at him. Do not speak to him. But let your eyes and expressions
convey your anger and your grief. The king is crazy about you. He cannot
be angry at you, nor can he see you upset. For you, he can give up his life.
Use that power of yours and remind him of the boons. There is no way the
king will refuse,’ she added.11
The idea appealed to Kaikeyi. She entered the krodhāgār. As was his
routine, having wrapped up the affairs for the day, Dasharatha came to
spend the night with his favourite queen. Kaikeyi was young and pretty.
Dasharatha loved her more than his own life.12 He was surprised to find she
was not in her room. The maids informed him that Kaikeyi was waiting for
him in the krodhāgār. Dasharatha got worried and hurried towards the room.
There he saw Kaikeyi lying on the floor, unadorned, distraught and angry.
Dasharatha was panic-stricken. He rushed to comfort her and understand
the reason for her wrath. Kaikeyi refused to speak, as tutored by Mantharā.
Dasharatha became more and more desperate with every passing
moment. ‘What is it? Just tell me—what is it that you seek? If any ailment
pains you, I will get the best of the vaidyas to serve you. Or do you want me
to do a favour for someone you like? Or is it that you want someone
punished? Don’t cry, my lady. Do you want me to kill someone not worthy
of being killed or release someone who deserves to be punished by death? I
and all my staff are your servants. Your wish is my command. Tell me and
it will be done,’ pleaded Dasharatha, unsuspecting of the consequences of
the offer he was making.13
Finally, Kaikeyi turned to look at him, softening her expression. She
could see that Dasharatha was concerned and was also driven by his desire
for her.
‘I will tell you only if you promise that you will do as I wish,’ she said.
Dasharatha was more than eager to do her bidding and please her. ‘There is
only one person dearer to me than you, and that is Rāma. I pledge on Rāma
to fulfil your desire.’ Satisfied, Kaikeyi reminded him of the two boons he
had bestowed on her and put forth her demands, loud and clear:
‘Rāma’s exile to the forest and Bharata’s coronation,’ she demanded.14
‘And please arrange it as soon as possible. I wish to see Rāma leave for
the forest today itself.’15
Kaikeyi’s words resounded in Dasharatha’s ears. He couldn’t believe
what he had just heard. He was devastated. He reproached her angrily at
first, calling her heartless, destroyer of the family and a poisonous snake.
He then beseeched her to reconsider her demands. ‘What has Rāma done to
you to deserve this? He has always treated you like his own mother. There
is no one like him in this world and you want me to abandon my son for no
fault of his? I can let go of Kaushalyā and Sumitrā. I can relinquish my
royal wealth, but I cannot give up an obedient son like Rāma. If you insist
and want to test my love for Bharata, I accept your demand of coronating
Bharata. But let Rāma stay. I will not survive if Rāma leaves. I prostrate
before you, please desist from making this demand’ he begged pitiably.16
Kaikeyi was unmoved. She angrily brushed aside the king’s pleadings.
‘Why commit to give boons and then repent? Why did you make the
promises if you had no intention of keeping them? You may wish to go
back on your word and tarnish the reputation of your ancestors. But I will
not let you get away like that. I know your plan. You wish to give the
kingdom to Rāma and have fun with Kaushalyā. Be it right or wrong or
good or bad, there can be no breaking of the word given to me. Or else I
will consume poison and kill myself right here before you. I’d rather die
before seeing Kaushalyā become the Queen Mother and get people to bow
down to her,’ declared Kaikeyi adamantly.17
Dasharatha cried. He begged her to change her mind, to no avail.
Suddenly, he felt a strong sense of guilt over his indulgent behaviour
towards Kaikeyi and his neglect of his other wives. He was worried about
how the decision to banish Rāma would impact them and, more so, how
Seetā would take it. Dasharatha couldn’t stand straight for he was feeling
faint and losing consciousness. As a desperate measure, he even threatened
to forbid Bharata from conducting his final rites if Bharata agreed with
Kaikeyi’s demands.
Kaikeyi had assured herself that despite all the protests, the king would
not refuse what she wanted. She asked for Rāma to be called. Dasharatha
sent a messenger to do so. Rāma came immediately. Lakshmana was with
him. The brothers were startled at seeing their father looking extremely
miserable. Rāma enquired after him. When the king could not speak a word
in response, Rāma turned pale. He asked Kaikeyi about what the matter
was.
‘You are very dear to your father, hence he hesitates in breaking the
news to you. He has made a promise to me, and you should strive to keep
your father’s word,’ answered Kaikeyi, quite unabashedly. She then told
him about the boons and her demand for his exile and Bharata’s
coronation.18
Rāma heard Kaikeyi’s words patiently. His expression was as
unperturbed as ever. ‘Evam astu, so be it,’ he said, finally. ‘I give my word
to you that I will go to the forest according to my father’s commitment to
you, dressed like a tapasvi, wearing tree barks for clothes. Had this come
from you directly, I would have happily honoured your order too. Please
assure my father that I can do anything for him. He should never harbour
any apprehension about that and I never go back on my words.’
Kaikeyi was happy to see Rāma showing no resistance. She became even
more brazen: ‘You seem quite eager to go to the forest already. Hence, I
think we shouldn’t waste any more time. You must leave as soon as
possible. Till you are here, your father won’t eat nor will he bathe.’ The
words pierced Dasharatha’s heart, and he fainted once again.19
‘I will let my mother Kaushalyā know and plan to leave today itself,’
said Rāma, taking leave of his father and stepmother. He left the way he had
come, with a pleasant countenance. Rāma didn’t want to alarm his well-
wishers and cause them grief. Lakshmana followed him. Unlike Rāma,
Lakshmana was agitated.20
To Go or Not to Go
Life as the queen of Ayodhyā had been a mixed bag for Kaushalyā. She was
the eldest and the chief queen. Dasharatha hadn’t taken that away from her.
The people of Ayodhyā looked up to her and respected her as a mother
figure. But after Dasharatha’s marriage to the princess of Kekaya,
Kaushalyā’s equation with the king had never been the same. Kaikeyi was
young, very attractive and charming. In her presence, the king desired no
one else. He was lust-stricken and the young queen indulged him ever so
happily.
Since the birth of Rāma, Kaushalyā’s life had found a new meaning.
Rāma had imbibed her devoutness, kindness and humility. Whatever be her
situation with Kaikeyi, Kaushalyā ensured Rāma would treat all his father’s
wives alike and with equal respect. Kaikeyi reciprocated wholeheartedly.
Rāma’s qualities were such that no one could remain unimpressed. The king
too loved him more than his own life.
When the news of Rāma’s coronation had reached Kaushalyā, she had
run to the temple and sat down with eyes closed before her Vishnu murti,
her heart full of emotion and gratitude. It was the culmination of all her
efforts and her dreams for Rāma. Her son was capable and was being
recognised for it.
Leaving Kaikeyi’s chambers, when Rāma entered her palace, she was
surrounded by many people, including brāhmins, and was busy getting
some rituals conducted for Rāma’s well-being. When she saw Rāma, she
got up to embrace him and held him close. She then offered him food to eat.
Rāma just touched the food and left it. He had to break the news of his exile
to her. He said slowly, but calmly, ‘Maa, you may not have heard, but a
situation has developed which is likely to cause grief to you, Seetā and
Lakshmana. I will be going to the forest for fourteen years and will be
living like a tapasvi, eating fruits and food found in the forest. Father has
given the throne to Bharata and fourteen years of exile to me. I must leave
today according to his instructions.’
To Kaushalyā, it felt as if all that she had ever lived for had come
crashing down in a moment. The emotions she had buried deep within
couldn’t stay hidden anymore. ‘If this is how it was meant to be, then I
would have been happier if you weren’t born. I could have lived being
childless but at least I wouldn’t have had to bear this pain of separation.
Your father has not given me any happiness befitting the eldest queen. The
king treats the maids of Kaikeyi better than me. You were my only joy.
Even with you here, I have been at the receiving end of the insults of the
women in the palace because of his neglect. With you gone, these insults
will only get more bitter and aggravating. There is no way I will survive
without you,’ Kaushalyā’s lamentations wouldn’t stop.21
Rāma had managed to keep his composure despite his mother’s sorrowful
wails. But Lakshmana couldn’t keep quiet anymore. ‘I don’t agree with
your acceptance of exile. You have done no wrong to be banished like this
to the forest, deprived of this prosperous kingdom. The king’s mind has
become deluded due to old age and sensual desires. He is influenced by
Kaikeyi’s words. Otherwise, who in his right mind will take an honest and
virtuous son like you to the altar for sacrifice?’
‘We cannot take this injustice lying down,’ he continued. ‘We should
take over the kingdom with our strength before the word spreads. The
king’s mind, instigated by Kaikeyi, has degenerated. How can he hand over
the kingdom to Bharata just like that when it has been promised to you
according to the wishes of the people? If need be, for behaving like our
enemy, I will imprison our father or even kill him. Haven’t we been taught
that even if it is a guru who goes rogue and harms the interest of the state,
he must be punished?’ Lakshmana made no attempt to hide the contempt in
his voice for his father’s decision.22
Encouraged by Lakshmana’s protestations, Kaushalyā too weighed in
again, ‘Son, you’ve heard your brother’s views. Now do what is right. You
shouldn’t obey the unjust orders of my co-wife. Also, you are as much my
son as your father’s. I order you not to go. You must honour my words, too.
And if you must go, take me with you or you will see me die here.’23
Rāma comforted both Lakshmana and his mother. He understood and
appreciated their emotions, but he was sure that he had to go. His mind was
made up, justice or injustice was not important at that moment. He made an
honest attempt to explain the reason to his mother and Lakshmana. Not
disobeying his father was certainly a very important reason, but there were
other factors at work too.
‘Many great men have achieved greatness by obeying their father’s
words unconditionally, even if they were seemingly unrighteous. I am only
following their example. I also honestly believe that father’s order is
aligned with dharma. Kaikeyi might have conveyed the decision to me, but
the decision was our father’s. Right now, you are agitated and hence cannot
see this. But I am convinced that following my father’s order and accepting
exile is the right thing to do for any son who is not given to impropriety. He
is not just our father, but the king of Ayodhyā and our guru as well. I cannot
disobey him for the lure of this kingdom. These joys are only temporary.
Hence, do not grieve, Maa. Trust my decision, send me off smiling and wait
for my return after successfully living through the exile of fourteen years.’24
Addressing Lakshmana, Rāma exhorted, ‘Give up your anger,
Lakshmana, and give this situation a patient thought. I can’t do anything
that will emotionally or mentally disturb our father. He has always striven
to be on the side of truth. He is anxious about the consequences that he may
have to bear due to any kind of falsehood being attributed to him in this
world or beyond. If my coronation is not stopped and I stay back, he will
never find peace, knowing that he has gone back on his promise to Kaikeyi.
That awareness will always eat into his conscience. I can never be happy
seeing him suffer like that.’
Rāma added, ‘And there is one more point. I don’t remember doing
anything, knowingly or unknowingly, to our father or any mother, that can
be faulted. I have always treated all our mothers equally. Kaikeyi too has
always loved me like her own son. It is unthinkable that she would want to
hurt me. But something has inspired such a thought in her mind. Our father,
too, who otherwise loves me so much, has accepted her wish. I was so close
to being crowned the yuvarāja of Ayodhyā, and suddenly it has been taken
away from me, just like that, without any fault of mine. There is no rational
explanation for the way things are turning out, on their own accord without
I having done anything to trigger them. Hence, I am of the firm belief that
this must be the work of destiny.’
Rāma continued, ‘It is indeed fate that has planted this thought in
Kaikeyi’s mind. The influence of fate is unfathomable and cannot be
averted. It is evident that adversity has befallen me and Kaikeyi. The words
she used to instigate the king were also not what one could have ever
expected from her. What, if not fate, made Kaikeyi, the illustrious princess
of Kekaya and queen of Ayodhyā, behave like an uncultured woman? It is
nothing but fate that is pulling me in this uncertain, unknown direction. The
only way to know what fate has in store is by flowing along and letting the
events unfold. This is also why I am accepting exile. It is futile fighting
destiny.’25
Rāma had thought this through. When one can’t make any sense of why a situation
unfolds the way it does against every expectation, despite having done nothing to
deserve it, it is best to surrender. It might be a sign of destiny having other plans for
us.
Lakshmana was not convinced. ‘To give in to destiny is cowardice,’ he
objected. But Rāma was firm on his decision. Lakshmana deferred to his
elder brother’s discernment but then insisted on accompanying him. Rāma
dissuaded him, concerned about the well-being of Kaushalyā and Sumitrā.
‘Who will take care of our mothers if both of us are gone? What if Kaikeyi
mistreats them? One of us must stay back for them,’ he urged.26
‘Bharata will take care of them. I will come back and kill him if he
doesn’t. Besides, Mātā Kaushalyā is capable of fending for herself. She will
take care of Mātā Sumitrā as well. She has in her possession over a
thousand villages. She is capable of providing shelter to thousands of
people like me,’ reminded Lakshmana and insisted on accompanying
Rāma.27 Rāma was aware that his mother was not financially dependent on
anybody. He consented to Lakshmana joining him in exile.
Kaushalyā, too, stopped resisting. She knew her son would not do
anything which was not appropriate. She let him go.
Rāma now had to break the news to Seetā. When he spoke to Seetā, her
concern was not the exile at all. All she wanted was to go along with her
husband. Rāma tried to scare her, explaining how dangerous forest life
could be. But Seetā was determined to go anyway. Finally, Rāma agreed.
Role of Destiny
Rāma explains his reasons to Lakshmana for accepting his father’s
decision. He says the situation is fated and hence one should not fight it.
Does that mean people should accept whatever fate they are dealt with,
and not even fight a just fight? Is Rāma being fatalistic?
Not at all. That would be an erroneous reading of Rāma’s pragmatic
approach to life.
When Rāvana abducts Seetā, Rāma doesn’t leave it to destiny to find
her and get her back. He does it himself. Then when does this approach to
let destiny have its way work?
Rāma has categorically said that when a situation develops suddenly
and unexpectedly, throwing all our plans out of the window, despite our
best efforts (Rāma had done his best to be a good son to Kaikeyi and
Dasharatha) and nothing we know at that time can explain the situation
(Kaikeyi’s behaviour wasn’t normal, nor was Dasharatha’s agreement to
her demands), then such a situation could be attributed to fate.
When events happen which are beyond our control, notwithstanding
our best efforts, rather than crib and complain, it is better to accept the
situation and let it unfold. It might just usher in a whole new phase of life.
We have seen such turns of events in the lives of many great people—
events that seemed devastating at that time but eventually turned out for
the better.
In adhyāya 18, shloka 13–14 of the Srimad Bhagavad Geetā, Krishna
explains five factors that determine the success or failure of an
undertaking. These are:
1. —the doer
2. —the instruments being used
3. —place, time and approach
4. — different activities and processes undertaken
5. —destiny
Destiny is a factor, says Krishna, but it is only one of the five factors. The
first four factors are under our control. Attribution to destiny can happen
only after the first four are performed to the best of our abilities. That is
what we can control.
This approach is to help us navigate through life pragmatically, without
losing hope. It doesn’t mean escapism or lethargy. These two will always
result in failure.
One other aspect to be considered is who is it that we are dealing with.
Here, Dasharatha is Rāma’s father and the king. Rāma’s claim to the
kingdom was because of Dasharatha. Sometimes, preserving the sanctity
of a relationship, especially that of a parent and child, is of greater
importance than fighting for an assumed ‘right’. We must pick and choose
worthy battles to fight.
The Departure
Rāma, Seetā and Lakshmana wrapped up all pending work and proceeded
to leave Ayodhyā. By then, the news of Rāma’s exile had spread like
wildfire. Dasharatha’s ministers, his wives, Rishi Vashishtha and other
sages had assembled in Kaikeyi’s palace by the time the three of them came
to bid farewell to Dasharatha.
Dasharatha was as if torn apart. He was shackled by the need to abide by
the ‘truth’—honouring his promises by agreeing to give Kaikeyi what she
wished. At the same time, Kaikeyi was pushing him to expedite Rāma’s
departure. Finally, he spoke, his eyes bloodshot and body frail, ‘I have been
duped by the boons I had given to Kaikeyi. Whatever is happening is not to
my liking. This vile woman has tricked me. Rāma, imprison me and
become the king of Ayodhyā.’ In that way, he hoped he wouldn’t have to
see Rāma go away, nor would there be any stigma of reneging on his
promises.
Rāma wasn’t going to do anything like that. ‘Father, may you live a
thousand years and rule this kingdom. I have no desire for it. I look forward
to returning after fourteen years and holding your feet. I relinquish any
claim to this prosperous country. May you give it to Bharata,’ he said, with
immense concern for Dasharatha.28
Dasharatha offered to send the army as well as money along with them
so that his sons and daughter-in-law may have a comfortable life in the
forest. Kaikeyi opposed that. ‘How can Bharata rule without an army or
wealth if you send everything to Rāma?’ she asked. She had started to
become impatient. Not only did she want her way, but she also wanted it to
happen immediately. She wanted to see Rāma leave as soon as possible.
‘Why do you behave as if you are the only one to banish your son? This has
happened before in the family of Ikshvākus. Your ancestor Sagar had
thrown out his son Asamanja from the kingdom earlier,’ she commented
slyly.
The comparison was outrageous. It came as whiplash to the people
assembled there. They were already shattered by the news of Rāma’s exile.
Sumantra and Siddhāratha, two of Dasharatha’s ministers, rebuked Kaikeyi
for making such preposterous demands. Siddhārtha even pointed out the
false equivalence in her comparison of Rāma and Asamanja. Kaikeyi did
not care. Instead, she got valkal, that is, dresses made of tree bark that
tapasvis living in forests wore, and handed them to Rāma, Lakshmana and
Seetā.
Rāma and Lakshmana accepted valkals and wore them. Seetā was
shocked for she had never worn a valkal before. She tried to don it but
couldn’t and stood there embarrassed, tears welling up in her eyes. Rāma
quickly came to her rescue. He helped her tie the valkal over her silk
garment. Everybody was stunned at the utter shamelessness of Kaikeyi.
Sagar and Asamanja
In the Ikshvāku dynasty, there was a renowned king Sagar. His eldest son
was Asamanja. Asamanja had turned out to be a brat. He would harass the
citizens of Ayodhyā for fun. Throwing babies of common people in the
River Sarayu was his favourite pastime.
Troubled and tired of his misdeeds, the people complained to Sagar. As
a punishment, Sagar banished Asamanja, removed his royal privileges and
exiled him from Ayodhyā forever.
Siddhāratha, Dasharatha’s minister, was quick to point out to Kaikeyi
that her comparison of the two incidents was flawed. Asamanja was guilty
of committing heinous crimes. Rāma had done no wrong whatsoever.
The women in the palace were crying uncontrollably. They requested Rāma
to let Seetā stay in Ayodhyā.29 Rishi Vashishtha had been observing
everything quietly till then. But Kaikeyi’s audacity made him speak up.
‘You have crossed all the limits, Kaikeyi,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you tortured
the king enough already? No way will Seetā go to the forest. Not only will
she reside here in the palace, but she will also reign Ayodhyā till Rāma
returns. A wife is considered the ātmā of her husband. By that
identification, Seetā will rule the kingdom while Rāma is away.’30
However, Seetā did not want the throne. She wanted to be with Rāma; it
didn’t matter where he lived. She politely informed everyone about her
desire to accompany her husband.
Dasharatha, too, tried to put his foot down regarding Seetā’s departure.
He reproached Kaikeyi for making Seetā wear the valkal. He had never
made any commitment to sending Seetā to the forest anyway. Her wish to
accompany Rāma was her own and hence there was no obligation for her to
wear valkal. He ordered for a supply of good clothes and ornaments to be
sent over for Seetā.
It was time to leave. Before leaving, Rāma made just one request of
Dasharatha. ‘Please take care of my mother. She is already old and pale.
Now my going away is going to make her very upset. She has always
wished for your well-being. Please ensure her welfare while I am gone,’ he
said.
Then the three of them bid their final goodbyes and started walking
towards the forest.
Rāma’s Dutifulness
Before leaving, Rāma and Seetā took a few actions which demonstrate
their sense of empathy and accountability towards those who worked for
them and were under their patronage to ensure they weren’t rendered
helpless once Rāma and Seetā were gone.31 A sample is as follows:
1. They collected all their ornaments, items of use including vessels,
mattresses, clothes and so on, which were not going to be of any use to
them for the next fourteen years and distributed them among the people
who worked for them.
2. They gave huge donations comprising foodgrains and animals such
as cows and bulls to brāhmins, officiating priests and students under their
patronage, and also to those who were under the patronage of Kaushalyā.
Rāma wanted to ensure that the people of Ayodhyā took care of his
mother even if Kaikeyi and Bharata did not.
3. To his charioteer and handyman Chitrarath, Rāma gave one thousand
cows and other animals.
4. In addition, to all their employees, Rāma paid fourteen years’ salary
in advance so that they wouldn’t have to suffer in their absence and could
continue to work in the palace. Rāma didn’t want to leave them dependent
on Bharata for their subsistence. ‘Please maintain Lakshmana’s and my
homes till we are back,’ Rāma requested them. The employees were
overwhelmed by their master’s generosity.
5. Rāma distributed whatever wealth that remained among the less
fortunate sections of the society.
Leaving the weeping and mourning Ayodhyā behind, the chariot driven by
Sumantra moved on, carrying Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā. Some people
followed them till the banks of Tamasā where they halted on the first night.
The next day, Rāma, Lakshmana, Seetā and Sumantra left the place
extremely quietly, before dawn, leaving behind the people of Ayodhyā who
had followed them all the way.
Sumantra accompanied them till Shringaverpur, a city just outside the
boundary of Kosala, by the Gangā river. They crossed many villages of
Kosala along the way. The news of Rāma’s vanvās had spread far and wide
by then. People were heard lamenting the misfortune of Ayodhyā brought
about by the lust of their king Dasharatha and the cunningness of his young
queen Kaikeyi.
On hearing about Rāma’s arrival at the outskirts of his city, Guha, the
king of Shringaverpur, of the kingdom of Nishādas, came to see him. Rāma
and Guha were old friends. They were meeting after a long time. Rāma
hugged him tightly. Guha insisted that they spend the next fourteen years in
his kingdom. But Rāma was firm about living in the forest. That was the
condition imposed on him.
The next morning, Guha arranged boats to take Rāma, Lakshmana and
Seetā across the Gangā from where they were to enter a dense forest. Their
first task was to find a place in the forest where they could build their
dwelling. Walking through the forest adjoining Vatsadesh (present-day
Prayāg), Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā reached the āshram of Rishi
Bharadwāja by the confluence of Gangā, Yamunā and Saraswati. Rishi
Bharadwāja suggested them to go to Chitrakoot to set up their hut.
Chitrakoot was a beautiful hill a few kilometres away, by the River
Mandākini.
In Chitrakoot, Rāma decided on the place where a hut could be built, a
place close to the river and surrounded by delightful flora and fauna.
Lakshmana made the hut with his own hands, using wood, stems, straws
and leaves. This was their first abode outside Ayodhyā. The life of exile had
begun.
Dasharatha’s Death
Sumantra had tried to convince Rāma one last time at Shringaverpur to
reconsider his decision and return to Ayodhyā. When Rāma didn’t budge,
he insisted on staying with them through the fourteen years. But Rāma
convinced him to return. ‘Kaikeyi will find peace only when she is assured
of my going to the forest. Unless you go back and confirm it, she won’t let
my father live in peace. Hence, you must return.’32 Sumantra was left with
little choice. He drove the empty chariot back to the city.
Dasharatha’s weak heart couldn’t bear the separation from Rāma. The
speed at which the events had moved had broken him. He couldn’t gather
the strength to tell Kaikeyi that Rāma’s exile was not acceptable, even if it
meant going back on his words. Given that the people of Ayodhyā had
wholeheartedly given their consent to Rāma as their future king, Dasharatha
owed it to them, too, to refuse Kaikeyi’s demands. He could have given the
desire of the people of Ayodhyā to see Rāma as their king as the reason. But
he didn’t. And once Rāma was gone, Dasharatha couldn’t bear the sight of
the queen who was his favourite until then. He had been deceived by the
woman he loved—and how!
Dasharatha told Kaikeyi, ‘I have nothing to do with you or people who
are with you from now on. I renounce the vows I took with you before agni
at the time of our wedding. If Bharata accepts this kingdom as per your
desire then he is prohibited from performing my last rites.’ Dasharatha then
asked to be taken to Kaushalyā’s chambers.
It was the sixth night since Rāma had left for the forest. Dasharatha’s
health had been failing fast. That night, an incident from his past came back
to him. He narrated the story to Kaushalyā, about the death of a young
tapasvi, Shravan, at his hands.
It was an unfortunate night, many years ago, when Dasharatha was the
crown prince of Ayodhyā. He had gone hunting in the forest. Dasharatha
was proud of his skills of hitting a target just based on its sound. That night,
however, he accidentally shot a young rishi named Shravan, mistaking the
sound he made while taking water from the river to be of a wild elephant.
Shravan lived in the forest with his old, blind parents. He was their sole
caregiver, a responsibility he fulfilled with a lot of dedication. Even while
fatally injured by Dasharatha’s arrow, he was concerned not about his own
life but the well-being of his parents. He requested Dasharatha to inform his
father of his death. In that way, he said, Dasharatha could also avoid being
cursed by his father, whose sorrow would know no bounds on learning
about his son’s death.
Dasharatha was feeling guilty about what had happened due to him, even
if unintentionally. He went to Shravan’s old parents and conveyed to them
the heartbreaking news. Their reaction was on expected lines. They were
shattered. But Shravan’s father was very dignified. Even though he was
extremely angry, he acknowledged the prince’s honesty. ‘Had you not come
yourself and confessed, trust me, your head would have exploded. When a
warrior kills an innocent rishi intentionally, his head explodes into seven
pieces, it is said. You have been honest about this; hence you are still alive.’
But unable to handle his grief, Shravan’s father cursed Dasharatha that
he would die a painful death separated from his sons.
The memory came to Dasharatha as a harbinger of his own end. He
passed away soon afterwards. None of his sons was by his side at the time
of his death.
The destiny of Rāma was being shaped much before he was even born.
Bharata’s Pledge
Ayodhyā drowned in grief. Their favourite prince was gone, and now their
king was dead. To avoid the kingdom from falling into anarchy, Rishi
Vashishtha sent for Bharata and Shatrughna to come back quickly. The
brothers came and were devastated to find their father dead and brothers
exiled.
Kaikeyi was unrepentant even then. When Bharata came to see her on
returning from Kekaya, still unaware of the tragedy that had befallen the
family, she smugly described to him how she had secured the kingdom for
him despite Dasharatha wishing to give it away to Rāma alone. She
expected Bharata to be pleased. She thought he would be grateful for what
she had done for him. To her utter shock, Bharata was angry and
embarrassed. Not only did he refuse the throne of Ayodhyā, pledging
instead to bring Rāma back, but he also held her responsible for his father’s
death.
‘Because of you my father passed away. Because of you today Rāma has
been exiled. And how unfortunate I am that you, my mother, made me a
party to these sinful acts. In the form of a mother, you are truly my enemy. I
do not wish to talk to you ever. I cannot carry the weight of the tears of the
people of Ayodhyā who may consider me responsible for the tragedy that
has befallen this kingdom because of you,’ snapped Bharata.33 His words
pierced Kaikeyi’s heart. But now there was no undoing her actions.
After completing the final rites of his dead father, Bharata declared
before the ministers and rishis that he did not desire the throne of Ayodhyā
and that he was determined to get Rāma back. He ordered an entire
contingent, including the rishis, ministers and the three mothers as well as
an army battalion, to get ready to go to the forest and request Rāma to
return. The contingent left on an auspicious day to do that.
When Guha learnt of Bharata’s expedition heading to Shringaverpur, he
was alarmed. He assumed that Bharata, instigated by his mother, was
coming to kill Rāma. Guha put his forces on alert, determined to stop
Bharata in his tracks before he could reach Rāma. However, after meeting
Bharata, his fears were allayed. Guha told Bharata of the direction in which
Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā had gone. He also arranged for five hundred
boats to take the contingent across the Gangā. Then Rishi Bharadwāja
directed them to Chitrakoot.
The brothers met. Rāma was overwhelmed seeing Bharata. But the news
of Dasharatha’s death made him sorrowful. He offered jaladāna to his
departed father as a son should. As per the rituals, he also made an offering
of wild fruit to his father. Kaushalyā was sad seeing her son, who had
grown up in luxuries and who, not so long ago, had the best of delicacies
for his consumption and offering, was now reduced to making an offering
only of wild fruit. ‘Such an offering doesn’t befit a prince,’ she choked as
she spoke. Rāma had no such regret. ‘What a man eats, his devas eat the
same. O king, may you partake of this food,’ he said simply while making
the offering.34
Bharata requested Rāma to return to Ayodhyā. ‘You have satisfied my
mother by offering the kingdom to me. Now I give it back to you, please
accept it. No one apart from you can effectively reign Ayodhyā. The sinful
act committed by my mother is not to my liking. Only because I am bound
by dharma, I have not already punished her with death. Please accept my
request and shower your grace on me,’ Bharata urged.
Bharata continued his appeal, ‘Our father is now dead, and I shouldn’t
criticise him. But which person who understands dharma will act as our
father did just to please a woman? Or maybe it is indeed true that a man
loses his discretion when death is near. His act was a deviation from
dharma. It behoves a good son like you not to toe the line of such a
deviation. It is the duty of a warrior prince to get himself crowned the king
so that he can protect his subjects. Do your duty Rāma, rule this kingdom of
our ancestors without any distraction or hindrance.’35
Everyone supported Bharata’s request. Rishi Vashishtha and Rishi Jābāli
also made a case for Rāma’s return. Rishi Jābāli made some interesting
comments to further the request. ‘A man is born alone, and a man dies
alone. Hence, becoming too invested in all these relations of father, mother
and brother are futile. No one belongs to anyone here. Like a traveller who
rests a night in a village and moves on the next day, these relations are mere
resting places in the larger journey of life. One need not get too attached to
them. Dasharatha is now gone, as is expected of every being who is born.
The relation of yours with him doesn’t stand anymore, nor does the promise
you made to him. It will be unfortunate to give up the wealth and kingdom
which you have right in front of you, in expectation of a world beyond
which you have no knowledge. Come back and take the throne, as it is the
wish of everyone here.’36
It was a fair argument. But Rāma wasn’t impressed. There was a basic
flaw in the logic—if all the relations are assumed to end with one’s death,
there would be no sanctity of any relationships or contracts in society. How
could a person ever trust anyone else if promises were nullified using such
specious arguments? Accepting Jābāli’s proposition would make people
reckless because nothing they said or did would be binding on their
successors once they were dead. For maintaining social systems, honouring
promises and contractual agreements is important. For a system to sustain,
there must be certain non-negotiables that every stakeholder in the system
must sincerely adhere to; in that truth, accountability and trust are
necessary.
Rāma understood this well. Being a prince and someone who people
looked up to, it was even more important for him to maintain the sanctity of
the word given to his father because citizens tend to follow the precedents
laid down by their leaders. Besides, there was no huge leadership crisis
threatening to push Ayodhyā into disorder that called for reneging on his
words. The able ministers and gurus continued to manage the kingdom’s
affairs as they did in Dasharatha’s time. Bharata himself was very capable.
Therefore, Rāma remained firm in his resolve to spend the next fourteen
years in exile.
He did not hold back from showing his displeasure at Rishi Jābāli’s
words as he explained the importance of being established in truth. As a
rishi, Jābāli should have been more responsible with his words, Rāma
believed. Rishi Vashishtha intervened to console Rāma and explain Rishi
Jābāli’s position. ‘What he said is not because he believes in it. He
understands the importance of truth. Rishi Jābāli only said what he did to
convince you to return.’ Rishi Jābāli too explained his position.37
Rāma made one commitment to the heartbroken Bharata. He promised to
return after fourteen years and take over the kingdom. Bharata found solace
in these words of Rāma. He made a pledge to govern Ayodhyā in Rāma’s
name until Rāma completed his exile and returned. He also declared that,
like Rāma, he would also live in an āshram, wear valkal and give up the
luxuries of the palace for the next fourteen years. Bharata held Rāma’s
pādukā on his head to underscore his pledge. ‘Your pādukā will serve me as
your guidance in taking care of the kingdom till you return. And if I do not
see you on the first day of the new year after your fourteen years of exile, I
assure you I will enter the funeral pyre,’38 he asserted.
The contingent returned to Ayodhyā without Rāma. True to his pledge,
Bharata gave up the palace, dressed like a tapasvi in valkal and moved to
Nandigrām outside Ayodhyā to live in an āshram. He looked after the
administration of the kingdom as a custodian of Rāma from there.
When Mantharā advised Kaikeyi to seek the kingdom for Bharata, she
probably had Kaikeyi’s best interest in her heart. She was not far-sighted
enough to foresee how things would play out and where it would take
Kaikeyi. Her interest was limited only to her mistress, forgetting that
Kaikeyi was not just any woman, she was the queen of Ayodhyā, an
important family member of the royal household. Mantharā acted according
to her limited understanding of swadharma. What about Kaikeyi? Did she
not know her swadharma? She should have known better than falling for
Mantharā’s short-sighted advice.
Kaikeyi’s position of privilege entrusted her with the responsibility of
taking care of the interest of the entire royal household and of Ayodhyā.
Unfortunately for her and Ayodhyā, she considered none of her
responsibilities when jealousy over Kaushalyā’s good fortune gripped her.
The shackles of greed, jealousy and insecurity were too strong to be
loosened by Dasharatha’s pleadings or Vashishtha’s reprimands. At that
moment, she had lost all sense of discrimination.
Kaikeyi’s retribution was quick. Within days, she had lost it all—a
doting husband, loving sons and the respect of the people of Ayodhyā. As
for Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā, the will of destiny was yet unknown. It
would remain so for some more years. When it did unfold, it changed the
course of the history of Bhāratavarsha, immortalising the story of Rāma for
generations to come.
The Road to Gangā
When Bharata said in the royal court of Ayodhyā that he intended to find
and bring Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā back, his idea was to do it in style
by coronating Rāma in the forest itself and then come back in a
triumphant procession. The who’s who of Ayodhyā, including his three
mothers, were to accompany him on the expedition. To protect all these
people and take care of their needs, Bharata decided to take an entire
army battalion with him.
Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā had travelled from Ayodhyā to Chitrakoot
partly on a chariot and partly by walking through the forests. But for the
size of the contingent that Bharata was planning to take along, walking
through the forests was not possible. Hence, before undertaking the
journey, Bharata got a levelled road built to allow everyone to travel on
horses and chariots comfortably.
Sarga 80 of Ayodhyā Kānda talks exclusively of the process of road
construction. Artisans of all kinds—excavators, mechanics, engineers and
architects, road menders, carpenters, tree cutters, well-diggers, tanners,
whitewashers and plasterers—were set to the task of making a road
leading from Ayodhyā to the banks of the Gangā. The work involved
clearing bushes, levelling surfaces, cutting trees that came in the way,
planting flowering trees by the pathways, filling holes and pits along the
way, digging wells and freshwater ponds for the travellers at regular
intervals, bridging streams, breaking rocks and boulders, building
platforms by the water bodies for the travellers to rest, pitching tents
along the route, among others.
It was a huge civil engineering project undertaken by Bharata.
Such descriptions of construction activities documented in the itihāsa
itself help us to imagine the lives and living conditions of our ancestors—
no way can they be considered primitive people in any way. There were
proper urban settlements, as we can gauge from the descriptions of the
cities mentioned in the epic.
Ψ
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9
Sahadharmachārini
Rāma had no clue who Seetā was when he lifted, strung and broke the
Shiva Dhanush. He had picked up the dhanush out of sheer curiosity, as
would be natural for a kshatriya prince. The curiosity was natural, but not
the parākram.1 Rāma had accomplished a feat that no other kshatriya of the
day had been able to. Seetā had probably never heard of Rāma till three
days before her marriage. Janaka had vowed to marry his elder daughter to
the man who was powerful enough to perform the feat of stringing the bow.
Even though many princes had desired Seetā and had asked for her hand in
marriage, no one had been able to meet Janaka’s condition.
Rāma and Seetā met directly only at the time of their wedding ceremony.
Putting Seetā’s hand in Rāma’s, Janaka had said, ‘I offer you this daughter
of mine. She will be your sahadharmachārini, your equal partner in
dharma.’ With every passing day after their marriage, Rāma and Seetā fell
deeper and deeper in love with each other. Rāma’s heart was fixed on Seetā.
For Seetā, there was never a moment when Rāma was not in her thoughts.
Rishi Vālmiki tells us that the two were so deeply in love that between
them there was no emotion and no thought that was hidden. They didn’t
even need words to communicate. They spoke through their hearts. Their
life in the palace immediately after their marriage was like a dream. But the
thing about dreams is that they don’t last. Rāma and Seetā soon found
themselves in throes of dreams, destiny and dharma.
The Exile
Seetā was busy preparing for the big day. Rāma would be back any time—
he had been called by his father in the early hours of the morning. There
was so much to be done, she fretted. But she couldn’t stop smiling. Soon,
her Rāma was going to be crowned as the successor of Dasharatha.
Seetā saw Rāma come in. She blushed. It was funny, she thought, how
even after so many years, the sight of Rāma sent a wave of warm, fuzzy
feeling through her heart. But as he came closer, her heart skipped a beat.
Something was amiss. Rāma’s face had lost its colour. He looked visibly ill
at ease.
Rāma hadn’t flinched when Kaikeyi told him that an exile awaited him
instead of the throne of Ayodhyā. His face had retained its composure when
he broke the news to his mother. He was perfectly calm while explaining to
Lakshmana the reason for accepting vanvās. Yet, when he went to his
chambers to inform Seetā about the drastic twist in their lives, he couldn’t
hold back his emotions. Beads of sweat broke on his forehead and a look of
despondency spread across his face.
‘What happened? Why do you look so pale?’ asked Seetā anxiously.2
‘Seetā, I have been banished to the forest by father and I must leave
today,’ said Rāma, narrating to her all that had transpired in Kaikeyi’s
chambers. ‘While I am gone, please continue to serve both my mother and
father respectfully, as you always have. My mother will need your care even
more as she deals with my separation. Continue to treat Bharata and
Shatrughna with love, like your brothers and sons. Bharata will now be the
king, so do not do anything that is against his interest,’ he said, regaining
his composure.3
Seetā was shocked, not at Rāma’s banishment but his indication that he
was going without her. ‘Why do you speak to me like some woman who
does not know her role? Mother, father, siblings—they all live their
individual destinies. Only the wife follows the fate of her husband. So, if
you are exiled, I am exiled with you. If you must walk on the paths of
thorns in the jungles, I will walk ahead of you, pulling out the thorns to
make your journey smooth. And I don’t need any instructions from you
about how to deal with people; my parents have taught me well. Hence, I
know what I must do. I will go with you. There is no way anyone, even
you, can stop me from accompanying you. You need not worry. I will eat
whatever is available in the forest and tend to your needs. Travelling
through forests with you, I will admire the beautiful lakes full of lotuses and
swans, and the tall mountains. All I care about is being with you. I don’t
even desire heaven without you,’ declared Seetā, unable to control her
tears.4
Rāma was not sure Seetā really understood what she wished to get into.
Comforting her, he said, ‘You have never shirked your responsibilities, I am
aware. I urge you to live by them right here in Ayodhyā till I return after
fourteen years. Life in the forest is full of hardships, which I do not wish for
you. Unaccustomed to seeing humans, the wild animals are ever ready to
pounce when they see one. The place is filled with roars of lions who are
always on the prowl. The streams of rivers that flow through the forests are
home to dangerous crocodiles. There are swamps all around, making
walking extremely difficult. There are no beds. The forest dwellers have to
sleep on dry grass. There are no delectable foods. One has to survive on
wild fruits and roots and sometimes even these are difficult to procure.
There could be bouts of wild storms and intense darkness. Poisonous
snakes, spiders, scorpions and mosquitoes thrive in the jungle. Life in a
forest is full of mental and physical struggles. Hence, it is better for you not
to come to the forest.’5
Seetā was undaunted. ‘Sure, there will be hardships. But with you
alongside, these would matter little. I am certain the wild animals will run
away when they see you. Everyone who has challenged you has run away
scared, what to say of these animals. When I was still a young girl in my
parents’ home, an astrologer had predicted that I will have to live in the
forest. Since then, I have been yearning to live in the jungles. This turn of
events is therefore destined for me. You must take me along. I have been a
devoted and loyal wife to you. I promise, whatever the situation, I will live
through it without complaining. If you leave me and go, then trust me, you
will see me dead.’
Rāma continued to dissuade Seetā by enumerating the dangers of jungle
life. With every argument that Rāma presented, Seetā became more upset
and annoyed. ‘Did my father know that he had found a son-in-law who was
a man only in physique but was otherwise more like a woman? If you go
without taking me because you are afraid of the dangers, the world will
surely think you lack courage and valour. Such insult of yours will be
unbearable for me.6 Or is there any other reason that you wish to forsake
me? I will cause you no harm. I will follow you, ask for nothing, demand
nothing,’ Seetā pleaded and hugged Rāma tightly, tears rolling down her
eyes uncontrollably.
Rāma steadied her and covered her in a warm embrace. ‘Seetā, at the
cost of making you unhappy, I do not desire even heaven. Nor am I scared
of anyone or anything. I am very capable of protecting you myself. But I
couldn’t have forced you to come to the forest with me without fully
knowing your desire. If you have been destined to go with me to the forest,
you will.’
Everyone dissuaded Seetā from going to the forest. ‘She doesn’t deserve
the hardships,’ said some. ‘Seeing her, we will miss Rāma less,’ said others.
Rishi Vashishtha even suggested that Seetā be given the throne in place of
Rāma. But Seetā’s mind was made up. Her firm decision was to go. She
wished to be with Rāma, in thick and thin. Even the throne had no meaning
for her without Rāma. Rāma didn’t want to impose an exile on her. But
when he was convinced of her desire, he was more than happy to take her
along. Living without Seetā was not to his liking either.
The Charms of Chitrakoot
Seetā was at home in the forest right from the first day they arrived there
after crossing the Gangā at Shringaverpur. With Rāma and the ever-vigilant
Lakshmana by her side, she had nothing to fear. Lakshmana walked ahead
of her, leading the way and Rāma behind her, protecting her from any
unforeseen dangers. Lakshmana retained some angst against Dasharatha
and Kaikeyi for sending Rāma away. Seetā, on the other hand, was joyous.
Her dream of living in the forest with her beloved was being realised.
When Kaushalyā asked Sumantra, who had just returned from
Shringaverpur, about the well-being of Seetā, Sumantra had told her to not
worry about her daughter-in-law at all. ‘There is not even a tinge of sorrow
in Seetā’s mind about the stay in the forest. She looks as happy and cheerful
in Rāma’s company as she was here. She roams about happily in the
desolate forest, admiring the flora as if she is in some garden of Ayodhyā.
Seetā is living her life in the jungle like a happy young girl. She asked
Rāma about the janapadas and forests we crossed out of innocent curiosity
and Rāma answered earnestly. She is blissful in Rāma’s company. The
physical hardship is of no concern to her. Looking at her, one would think
she is on a leisure trip.’7
Rāma and Seetā’s days in Chitrakoot were blissful. The place was
beautiful. Both were immersed in each other, with no outside distractions.
They would roam around the precincts of Chitrakoot. They would bathe in
the Mandākini together. Often, Rāma would enthral her with information
about the jungle, its trees and animals. Rāma would do his daily rituals and
Seetā would ensure he had all the items he needed for his nityakarma.8
Their happiness was evident in Rāma’s voice when, one day, he confided
in Seetā: ‘The sight of this mountain of Chitrakoot, these pretty birds flying
free in the open blue sky, the branches of the trees bending under the weight
of juicy fruits, the cool refreshing mountain breeze spreading the fragrance
of the multitude of flowers growing here, the gurgling of the streams of
crystal clear water running down the slopes, just the overall ambience of
this place, all these make me so joyous that even the thought of the loss of
kingdom or separation from my loved ones gives me no pain. With you and
Lakshmana by my side, I can live here for the next fourteen years with
joy.’9
Another time, bathing in the sacred waters of Mandākini with Seetā,
Rāma was ecstatic. Holding Seetā’s hands lovingly he said, ‘Dearest, living
like this with you here, partaking of the sweet, fresh fruit, I have no wish to
return to Ayodhyā or conquer any kingdom.’ Seetā blushed. Rāma had
given words to her emotions.
After spending a delightful year in Chitrakoot, the three of them left for
Dandakāranya, taking a cue from other tapasvis who were leaving the place
because of the harassment by Khara, a commander of Rāvana, who had
made their survival difficult. There was one more reason for leaving.
Bharata and his mothers had come to Chitrakoot to plead with Rāma to
return, but Rāma had persisted with the exile. The memory of his loved
ones was etched in the place, making Rāma miss them. Going to another
place would help avoid the painful reminders, he thought.
Anusuyā
En route to Dandakāranya, Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā stopped briefly at
the āshram of Rishi Atri and his illustrious wife Anusuyā.
Once upon a time, many years ago, the place around Chitrakoot faced a
drought. Trees died, rivers dried and animals and birds were rendered
helpless. To bring succour to the scorched earth, Anusuyā undertook an
intense tapasyā. The power of her tapasyā diverted the course of river
Mandākini to the area, ending the drought and famine of many years and
making greenery flourish once again.
Rishi Atri asked Seetā to seek the blessings of Anusuyā, and he
requested Anusuyā to bless her.
Anusuyā lovingly embraced Seetā. She was aware of the happenings in
Ayodhyā. She also knew it was Seetā’s decision to follow her husband in
exile, the perils of the forest life notwithstanding. ‘It is commendable that
you have chosen to accompany your husband even in the jungle, giving up
the luxuries and privileges of a royal life. No ordinary woman would have
done this. May you always remain a sahadharmachārini to Rāma and gain
immense merit and fame through your actions,’ blessed Anusuyā, and
gifted Seetā her own invaluable garments, ornaments and ointments. The
garments and ornaments were such that they would never wither or fade.
After spending the night at the āshram, the three made their way to the
Dandaka forest.
Days in Dandakāranya
Their entry into Dandakāranya was quite eventful. A rākshasa named
Virādh saw the beautiful Seetā with two young men dressed as tapasvis.
‘What is such a beautiful woman doing with these tapasvis? She deserves to
be my wife,’ he thought and stealthily lifted her away. The initial shock of
Seetā’s abduction was such that Rāma couldn’t help but blame Kaikeyi for
endangering Seetā’s life. ‘It was to put us through this pain that Kaikeyi had
wanted us to be exiled,’ Rāma agonised.10 Lakshmana motivated him to
fight instead. Rāma and Lakshmana attacked Virādh. After some struggle,
they freed Seetā and killed the giant rākshasa. Having spent peaceful days
in Chitrakoot, this was the first time the three of them came face-to-face
with the real dangers of forest life.
After this incident, they went to the āshram of Rishi Sharbhanga. Many
rishis came there to seek Rāma’s help. The man-eating rākshasas in the
region had been harassing them for quite some time. These rākshasas would
disrupt their yajnas, ravage their āshrams and even kill the rishis living
peacefully in the forest. Harassing the forest dwellers had become a source
of entertainment for the rākshasas led by Khara and Dushana, Rāvana’s
commanders.
The rishis pleaded with Rāma to protect them,
‘A king who collects one-sixth of the produce as tax and yet does not
protect his subjects commits an act of grave adharma. Rishis and munis like
us may not pay tax but a fourth of the merit we earn by leading an austere
life undertaking tapasyā accrues to the king. Hence, it is the king’s
responsibility to protect all of us. A king who always takes care of his
subjects like his own children, protecting them with his own life, attains
fame and prosperity in this world and next. You are the prince of Ayodhyā.
This whole area has been governed by the kings of the Ikshvāku dynasty.
Therefore, you must protect us.’11
Rāma readily agreed and assured protection to the rishis.
Rāma’s alacrity in accepting their request surprised Seetā. She expressed
her uneasiness to Rāma. ‘By accepting the request, I hope you aren’t
aligning yourself with adharma,’ she said. ‘As I understand, there are three
actions that arise out of intense desire—speaking falsehood, lusting after
women of other men and violence against those who have done us no harm.
You have a lot of self-control and discipline. The first two vices can’t come
near you. I am worried because I believe you may be indulging in the third
vice by accepting the request of the sages and arming yourself with
weapons. The rākshasas have done us no harm. But by keeping arms, you
may be tempted to use them on the rākshasas for no fault of theirs. We have
been exiled to lead a peaceful life practising austerities, non-violence and
forgiveness. Why should you want to engage in any kind of violence, then?
You may engage in your kshatriya dharma once you are back in Ayodhyā,’
she remarked rather anxiously.12
But Rāma had learned Vishvāmitra’s lessons on Rāja Dharma well. He
was not the one to ever deviate from his swadharma, be it in Ayodhyā or
Dandakāranya. He explained this to Seetā. ‘The sages are very unhappy
about being troubled by the rākshasas. Every day they live in fear, uncertain
who the rākshasas will harm that day and how. These forest-dwelling rishis
are innocent and are being subjected to great harassment for no justifiable
reason. As you know, Seetā, it behoves a kshatriya prince to ensure no
innocent is harmed. How could I have refused the sages who came to seek
my help? It is my dharma to protect the innocent and punish the criminals,
and that I must do,’ he said assertively, and added, ‘Having said that, I
appreciate your concern as well. I am aware you have spoken out of your
care and love for me. I love you too, more than my own life.’13
Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā spent the next ten years travelling around
Dandakāranya, living in the āshrams of various rishis, providing them
protection from the rākshasas.14 Then one day, they went further south to
Rishi Agastya’s āshram. Rishi Agastya not only offered them warm
hospitality but also blessed Rāma with knowledge of advanced weapons.
He advised them to go to Panchavati, a place in Janasthāna to spend the rest
of their days in exile. Before seeing them off, he had one more piece of
advice for Rāma. ‘Always do what Seetā likes. She has accepted this life of
hardship because of her love for you. It is rare to find a woman like her who
gives up everything for her husband.’15
Taking leave from Rishi Agastya, the three headed to Panchavati, a
beautiful place by the river Godāvari. On the way, they met Jatāyu, who
introduced himself as Dasharatha’s friend. In Panchavati, they set up a
humble but comfortable parnakuti—a thatched hut. Ayodhyā was only a
couple of years away now.
Just when they had settled down, hoping to spend the last few years in
peace, like the first year in Chitrakoot, destiny began to unfold itself, one
day at a time!
Shurpanakhā’s Deceit
Rāvana had appointed Khara and Dushana, his cousin brothers, as
custodians of the Dandakāranya region. The two had set up their base in
Janasthāna. In those days, Rāvana’s sister Shurpanakhā was also in
Janasthāna. One day, loitering around the jungle, Shurpanakhā saw Rāma in
his hut. Shurpanakhā was Cupid struck. She was much older than Rāma.
Still, she came to the hut to enquire from him and seek his indulgence.
‘Who are you, young man, dressed as a tapasvi? What are you doing
here in this forest frequented by rākshasas?’ she asked. Rāma politely gave
her his introduction and asked for hers. ‘I am Shurpanakhā. The mighty
Rāvana, Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana are my brothers. In prowess and
valour, I am even better than them. Since my eyes fell on you, my heart has
started yearning for you. I have come here to seek you as my husband.’
Rāma was amused. ‘I am already married. My wife is right here. How
can someone like you tolerate a co-wife?’ he asked with a smile.
Shurpanakhā took a good look at Seetā. ‘This wife of yours is ugly. She
is not worthy of you. I will eat her. You and I can then live happily here in
Dandakāranya, roaming around the beautiful forests and mountains,’ she
said.16
‘Let me suggest you another option. Why don’t you consider my
brother? He has no wife here,’17 Rāma asked in jest.
Shurpanakhā observed Lakshmana. He was as good looking and
attractive as Rāma, just a little younger. She made the same offer to
Lakshmana—to become her husband. ‘But I am just a servant of Rāma.
Why do you want to become a servant by marrying me? My brother here is
a man of many virtues. You should marry him,’ Lakshmana retorted with a
grin.18
Shurpanakhā was angry. She thought the men were rejecting her
overtures because of Seetā. ‘You are rejecting me because of this ugly lady
who is no match to me. See how I eat her up right here, right now,’ she
yelled and attacked Seetā, attempting to kill her. Rāma’s quick reflexes
saved Seetā from Shurpanakhā. He was now very angry. ‘This woman
deserves to be punished for her crime,’ he announced. Lakshmana took the
cue and cut off Shurpanakhā’s nose and ears with his sword.19
Shurpanakhā fled from their hut and stormed into the room where her
cousins Khara and Dushana were sitting, insisting they kill Seetā as well as
the two princes of Ayodhyā. Khara and Dushana assembled a force of
14,000 rākshasas and attacked the brothers. Rāma single-handedly killed all
of them, along with both Khara and Dushana. Shurpanakhā was in shock.
She escaped to Lankā to get help from her brother Rāvana, the king of
Lankā.
In Lankā, Shurpanakhā was appalled to see Rāvana unaware of the
happenings of Janasthāna. His cousin brothers and 14,000 of his men were
killed but Rāvana did not even have an inkling of the carnage unleashed by
Rāma. She rebuked Rāvana for the negligence of his kingly duties and went
on to give a discourse on the importance of vigilance, before telling him
about Seetā.
Embarrassed, Rāvana asked her to tell him in detail about the happenings
at Janasthāna. He was curious to know about Rāma. Shurpanakhā told him
about the fight between Khara’s forces and Rāma, and how Rāma
eliminated the entire rākshasa army all by himself. ‘Rāma holds a huge
bow, as big as a rainbow, using which he shoots a volley of sharp arrows at
his opponents. He is so quick that all I could see were the arrows he shot
but not his actions. He would pull out an arrow from his quiver, stretch the
string of the bow, take aim and shoot even before the previous arrow had
left his bow,’ she said, admiration evident in her voice.
Shurpanakhā informed Rāvana about Janasthāna to incite him to take
revenge. But she knew what would get Rāvana on his feet right away and
make him go to Janasthāna. Her cut nose and ears were not going to do that,
she was sure.
‘This Rāma has a wife with large, beautiful eyes,’ said Shurpanakhā,
carefully measuring every word and observing Rāvana’s expressions. ‘Her
hair, her breasts, her nose—every part of her body is elegant. She lives in
the forest as if she is Goddess Lakshmi herself. This lady with a golden
complexion and a thin, beautiful waistline, is the daughter of the king of
Videha, Janaka. Her name is Seetā. I haven’t seen another woman on earth
who is as exquisite and comely as her. Fortunate is he who has her as his
wife and enjoys her warm embraces. She has no parallel in virtue or beauty.
A precious gem like her is worthy of being your wife. You are the best
husband she can possibly get.’
Shurpanakhā’s words had their effect. An intense desire for Seetā rose in
Ravana’s heart. ‘I was hoping to get her here for you. But when I got close
to Seetā to pick her up, Lakshmana, the vile younger brother of Rāma,
attacked and disfigured me,’ she lied. ‘I have no doubt that you will be
struck by desire the moment you see Seetā. If you want to experience that
bliss, you must strive to make her your wife. Do remember, a direct
confrontation with Rāma may not be wise, he is too skilled a warrior. Think
through properly how you will make it happen,’ she added slyly.20 Rāvana’s
entire body was now craving Seetā. He was angry at Lakshmana, not so
much for disfiguring his sister, but for not allowing her to get Seetā for him,
as Shurpanakhā had claimed. Rāvana decided that he would have Seetā by
hook or by crook. His crooked brain was at work already. He had a plan.
Shurpanakhā’s Rebuke to Rāvana
When Shurpanakhā came to Lankā to find Rāvana revelling in the
luxuries of his prosperity, she was furious. Lakshmana’s disfiguring her
had enraged her and the loss of the rākshasa army at the hands of Rāma
had added insult to injury. And here was Rāvana, who had become so
negligent and indulgent that he didn’t even know that two ordinary
humans were challenging his authority. She reproached Rāvana for his
laid-back attitude. Shurpanakhā had an agenda, no doubt, but her words of
caution to Rāvana make for interesting reading. A summary of what she
said is given here:21
A king who, having given in to sensual indulgences, becomes negligent
towards the affairs of his state, doesn’t get any respect from his people.
A king who doesn’t establish and maintain a network of spies to remain
informed about the affairs the state, allies and enemies, is eventually
betrayed by his own people.
A king who wishes to succeed must have a well-established spy
network, a full treasury and a strong policy framework.
A king with following traits doesn’t get respect or loyalty from his
subjects—one with an angry and bitter disposition, one who doesn’t pay
his soldiers and employees timely and aptly, one who is deceitful and one
who is extremely arrogant and haughty. His subjects and allies abandon
him at the first sign of danger.
On the other hand, a king who is cautious, engaged in activities that
lead to betterment of his people, controls his senses and cultivates a sense
of gratitude and dispenses both favour and punishment as appropriate, is
well-respected and rules his kingdom for a long time.
The Lure of the Exquisite Deer
Since the conversation with Shurpanakhā, Rāvana had no peace. His body
was in pain. Seetā was his antidote. He soon left Lankā to seek help from
Māreecha. In those days, Māreecha lived in Dandakāranya.
Rāvana told Māreecha about the killing of Khara and Dushana, and the
disfiguring of Shurpanakhā at the hands of Rāma and Lakshmana. He then
revealed to Māreecha his intention of kidnapping Seetā. ‘The prince of
Ayodhyā is a vile and unrighteous man. That is why his father, King
Dasharatha of Ayodhyā, banished him from his kingdom along with his
brother and wife. He is bitter, stupid and has no control over his senses. He
is only interested in harming others. What he did to Khara, Dushana and
Shurpanakhā, I will avenge by kidnapping his beautiful wife. You have to
help to make it happen,’ said Rāvana with an air of confidence.
When Māreecha heard the name of Rāma, he was startled. Surely,
Rāvana didn’t have a clue who Rāma was. Rāma was no ordinary human,
he believed. Māreecha had barely survived Rāma’s onslaught in
Siddhāshram when the prince of Ayodhyā was just sixteen. After that,
Māreecha found shelter in the forests of Dandaka. Here too, he had
experienced the taste of Rāma’s arrows when he and other rākshasas were
on a mission to harass the innocent forest dwellers.
‘O king of the rākshasas, it is easy to find people who will always speak
what you would like to hear. But only a few genuine ones will say what is
right even if it is not to your liking, and there are fewer who will hear such
honest feedback,’ Māreecha spoke, giving context to what he was going to
say next.
‘Rāma has not been discarded by his father, nor is he unrighteous or
cruel. He is not bitter, and he is committed to protecting the innocent. You
are certainly not aware of who Rāma is. Rāma is an embodiment of dharma.
Rāma is as radiant as fire, with his mighty bow as its blazing flame.
‘Seetā herself has the resplendence of a smouldering fire. Rāma loves
her more than his own life. I wish the rākshasas well and hence I believe it
is in our interest not to infuriate Rāma. Let your coveting of Seetā not
herald the destruction of the rākshasas. I suggest you consult your ministers
such as Vibhishana before you take any undesirable step. Deliberate the
pros and cons of your action before making any reckless move,’ he
advised.22
Rāvana was furious at Māreecha’s speech and the high praise he
bestowed on Rāma. Hoping to dissuade Rāvana from committing hara-kiri,
Māreecha shared his own past encounters with Rāma. But Rāvana was
adamant. ‘If you refuse to help me, I will kill you,’ he threatened. Māreecha
was left with no choice. He could advise and object, but he could not
disobey his king. He agreed to be an accomplice in Rāvana’s abduction
plan.
Rāmo Vigrahavān Dharma
An oft-quoted statement in praise of Rāma is
—Rāma is the embodiment of dharma.
This quote comes from Aranya Kānda Sarga 37 and is said by
Māreecha to Rāvana. The full shloka is:
|
||
Rāma is the embodiment of dharma. He is saintly, established in truth and
valiant. He is the king of all earthly beings just like Indra is the king of
gods.23
As planned, Māreecha took the form of a uniquely resplendent, multi-hued
deer with sapphire-blue tipped horns, spotted red face, blue ears, bluish
stomach and rainbow coloured tail, hooves and limbs that appeared to be
studded with pearls and gemstones, and began sauntering near Rāma’s
āshram, endeavouring to catch Seetā’s attention.24 Seetā’s eyes fell on this
deer. She was enraptured seeing such an exquisite deer. She hadn’t seen
anything like this before. She pointed out the deer to Rāma and requested
him to get it for her. ‘If you capture it alive, I will foster it like a pet and
take it back with me to Ayodhyā,’ she said excitedly. ‘If not, I can use its
skin as a mat to sit with you on.’
Lakshmana sounded a word of caution, ‘No one has ever seen a deer like
this before. It doesn’t seem normal. I sense a conspiracy. This forest is filled
with rākshasas capable of assuming any disguise they desire. One such
rākshasa is Māreecha. We should not fall for this deer.’
‘But it’s only a deer, what can it do? I really want it,’ Seetā pleaded.
Rāma readily agreed. ‘It is indeed a unique deer. We haven’t seen any
animal of this type in the forest,’ he remarked, looking lovingly at Seetā.
Addressing Lakshmana, he said, ‘Just look at Seetā. How her face has lit up
seeing the deer! Therefore, I must get it for her. If it is a rare deer then we
would have procured a valuable item, and if it is the rākshasa Māreecha, as
you suspect, I must kill him anyway. He has killed so many innocent
people.’
Lakshmana found no reason to object. Picking up his bow, Rāma
proceeded to go after the deer. ‘Do not leave Seetā alone. Protect her. Be
watchful of the rākshasas. They can come from any direction,’ he instructed
Lakshmana before leaving.25
The deer was very agile. It kept escaping Rāma’s clutches, taking him far
away from his āshram. Finally, Rāma managed to shoot it. He went near the
injured deer to capture it. To his shock, the deer was no longer there.
Instead, there was Māreecha, the rākshasa. He had given up his disguise and
was breathing his last. Just before dying, Māreecha pulled a trick, which
was a part of the plan with Rāvana. He imitated the voice of Rāma and
screamed for help, ‘Ha Seetā! Ha Lakshmana!’ Rāma was spooked. The
trickery was now clear to him. He ran back towards the āshram as fast as he
could.
Meanwhile, Seetā and Lakshmana had also heard the voice. Seetā was
terrified. She urged Lakshmana to go and save Rāma. Lakshmana was
unperturbed. He was sure there was something fishy in the scream. He
didn’t move at all. Seetā was rattled by Lakshmana’s indifference. ‘Did you
not hear that, Lakshmana? Your brother is in danger. Are you his brother or
enemy? Ah, I see, you want him dead because you covet me,’ she taunted
bitterly.26
Lakshmana understood her concern. He responded calmly, ‘Please do
not fear. Have faith. Even if all nāgas, gandharvas, asuras and devas were to
combine, and all kings were to come together with their armies, they would
not be capable of defeating your husband. He is indomitable in any kind of
war. Worry not. The sound we heard is most definitely not his. Someone has
imitated him to mislead us. After Rāma killed Khara and his army, many
other rākshasas have become our enemies too. It must be one such rākshasa
creating this illusion. Rāma has entrusted your safety to me. There is no
way I can leave you here alone and go.’
Seetā turned red with anger, ‘You are a cruel man. Now I know why you
followed us to the jungle. You thought Rāma and I would be alone so you
will get Rāma out of the way and then lure me. Or has Bharata sent you?
Let me tell you this outright—having Rāma as my husband, there is no
other man who I would ever desire. If something happens to Rāma, I will
give up my life.’
The allegations were too acerbic for Lakshmana to withstand. ‘Your
words are falling into my ears like molten iron and burning me. May the
nature around here be witness to what I am going to say now. I have only
said what I believe is true. But you have said unworthy words to me. Surely,
you have lost your mind and are calling for your own destruction. You
accuse me of wrong intentions just because you are a woman. I have always
obeyed every word of my brother. But now I will go where Rāma is. May
the devatās of the forest protect you.’ Lakshmana left the āshram, leaving
Seetā alone.27
Rāvana was waiting for this opportunity—to find Seetā alone. He wasted no
time. Disguised as a rishi, he approached Seetā and requested for some
food. Seetā was an honourable hostess. She couldn’t refuse to feed a rishi.
She brushed away the tears welling up in her eyes and got some food for
Rāvana. Initially, Rāvana tried some small talk, elaborately praising Seetā’s
beauty. Having initiated a conversation, he gave his own introduction and
began to woo Seetā.
‘I am Rāvana, the king of Lankā, the one whose name itself sends
shivers down the spine of all beings. Seetā, having seen you, I find no
attraction in my wives. Come with me and become my chief queen. I have
brought a lot of women from every part of the earth into my harem. You
will rule over all of them. There will be no dearth of ornaments for you.
Five thousand maids will serve you always,’ he tempted.
‘Do you not know my husband, Rāma?’ Seetā snapped. ‘He is
unflinching like the mountain and as valiant as Indra himself. With my
heart, mind and body, I am committed to him. I have no desire for any other
man. I am a proud lioness and you are a wily fox. You can never get me.
Just like no one can touch the aura of the sun, you cannot even touch me.
Wanting to put your hands on Rāma’s wife is like trying to swim with a
heavy stone tied to your neck. It is as futile as believing one is going to
remain hale and hearty after consuming some deadly poison.’28
Rāvana tried to convince her by trumpeting his own greatness. Seetā
kept threatening him with dire consequences if he resorted to any
misadventure. Rāvana realised Seetā was not going to go with him
willingly. He had enough verbal confrontation. Giving up the sage’s
disguise, he assumed his original form. With his left hand, he pulled Seetā’s
hair, with the right he lifted her from the thighs and carried her along to his
flying chariot.29
Seetā struggled to get out of his grip. She cried and screamed for help.
Jatāyu heard her cries and came quickly, only to see Rāvana trying to fly
away with Seetā. He attacked the king of rākshasas, mustering all his
strength. Rāvana was surprised at the ferocity of his attack. But Rāvana, the
rākshasa, was way more powerful. He cut the aged Jatāyu’s wings and
inflicted a fatal blow on him. There was nothing stopping him now. He had
captured Rāma’s wife. He had presumed it was but a matter of time before
Seetā would consent and come happily to him.
Lakshmana Rekhā
A popular tale related to this episode is that before leaving, Lakshmana
drew a rekhā or a line on the ground which he asked Seetā not to cross.
Staying within the Lakshmana rekhā would keep her safe, Lakshmana had
instructed. Rāvana could capture her only because she stepped out of that
line drawn by her brother-in-law.
However, there is no mention of Lakshmana rekhā in Vālmiki
Rāmāyana. The text simply says that Lakshmana left the āshram praying
to the forest devatās to protect Seetā.
Seetā kept screaming and crying all the way to Lankā. When flying over
Rishyamukha mountain, she saw some vānaras on the peak. As if wanting
to leave a clue behind for Rāma and Lakshmana, she dropped her
ornaments and a piece of the yellow silk garment that she was wearing for
them to pick up.
On reaching Lankā, Rāvana tempted Seetā with his riches and luxuries.
He pleaded for acceptance. But Seetā rejected his overtures and praised
Rāma all the while. She minced no words in expressing her disgust for
Rāvana. Seetā had no dearth of luxuries in Ayodhyā. She had given them all
up for the sake of her husband. Luxuries of Lankā meant nothing to her.
Rāvana even threatened to kill her. Seetā was unmoved. Finally, Rāvana
gave her an ultimatum. She had twelve months to make up her mind. ‘If
you do not come to me of your own volition after twelve months, I will
have you chopped and eaten for breakfast,’ he warned while dispatching her
to Ashokavātikā, a forest of Ashoka trees within the boundaries of Lankā,
under the supervision of ferocious-looking rākshasa women.30 These
women were to guard Seetā and get her to accept Rāvana by persuasion or
fear, whatever worked.
Rāma’s Agony
In Dandakāranya, when Rāma was rushing back towards the āshram, he met
a very unhappy looking Lakshmana sans Seetā. Rāma was worried. He
rebuked Lakshmana for leaving Seetā alone in the jungle amidst the
rākshasas. ‘Where is Seetā? Seetā left behind everything to be with me
here. Why have you come leaving her all alone in the āshram? Without her,
I do not wish to live even for a moment. Without her, I wish no kingdom,
not even the lordship over the gods. If I don’t see Seetā’s smiling face on
reaching the āshram, I will surely die. Please tell me what has happened to
her. Has your negligence put her in danger? I left Seetā trusting you will
take care
of her. Why, then, have you come here alone?’ he asked, distraught.31
Lakshmana told him about what had transpired in the āshram in his
absence and how Seetā had been ruthless in casting aspersions on his
intentions. ‘But Lakshmana, Seetā was worried and angry. Why did you let
her words, which were spoken in anger, affect you? Are you not aware that
I can tackle the rākshasas myself? I am not happy with your action,’ said
Rāma.32
The situation was serious. There was no time to waste. The brothers ran
towards the āshram, as fast as they could. As they feared, Seetā was missing
and there were signs of struggle. Rāma was worried. He ran out of the
āshram to look for his wife. In the isolated forest, there was no one around.
He began to prod the trees, the rivers and the mountains of Seetā’s
whereabouts, like a mad man. ‘Where is my Seetā?’ he enquired of
everything that came his way.33
Lakshmana tried to encourage him to give up sorrow and focus on the
task at hand. ‘Do not grieve like this. Come with me, let us keep looking for
Seetā. She’ll surely be somewhere around.’ Rāma was in a state of shock.
He continued to lament to Lakshmana, ‘How will I go back to Ayodhyā
without Seetā? Even heaven will be a lonely place for me without her. You
return to Ayodhyā. I won’t come. I cannot live without Seetā. I must have
committed some terrible sin in my past life which has come back to haunt
me. The events causing grief don’t seem to end. I was banished from the
kingdom and separated from my mother, then my father passed away.
Because Seetā was with me, I could endure that sorrow. Now she is also
gone.’34 Lakshmana somehow got him to hold himself together and they
began to look for Seetā.
Their initial efforts were in vain. They had no idea where to look. They
checked all the places where Seetā could possibly have gone, but with no
success. Rāma started becoming increasingly impatient. His sorrow had
given way to fury. ‘I will destroy this entire world and all the beings in it
with my arrows if I do not see Seetā soon,’ he shouted.35 Lakshmana tried
to calm him down. ‘You are known for your composure, brother,’ he said.
‘Don’t let anger and sorrow overwhelm you. A king is entitled to punish, no
doubt, but the punishment must be given to the perpetrator and must be
commensurate with the crime. We don’t even know yet what has happened
and who is guilty. If even after all our efforts we don’t find Seetā, you may
do as you please,’36 he advised and thus tried to channelise Rāma’s
emotions positively. Massaging Rāma’s feet to help him relax, he added, ‘If
you, of all people, are not able to contain your agony, how can ordinary
people be expected to handle their sorrows with maturity?’ Lakshmana
went on to give examples of people who had suffered a lot more and had
still dealt with their problems with utmost patience and fortitude.37 His
words had the desired impact. Rāma took a grip on his emotions and started
thinking systematically. They began the search again.
It was then that they saw an injured Jatāyu covered in blood, fallen on
the ground. Initially, Rāma thought it was some rākshasa who was soaked
in Seetā’s blood, after having eaten her. But as they went closer, they
recognised Jatāyu. Jatāyu told them about Rāvana abducting Seetā. He was
fatally wounded and died soon after. The brothers cremated him with
respect. Jatāyu had given Rāma and Lakshmana a critical piece of
information—now they knew who the perpetrator was. But they had no idea
about where he had taken Seetā.
They continued their search. On the way, they had brief encounters with
Ayo Mukhi and then Kabandha before finally reaching Kishkindhā. In
Kishkindhā, they met Sugreeva, Hanumāna, Jāmbavana and others who
joined them in their efforts. After months of searching without success,
Hanumāna finally found Seetā in Lankā’s Ashokavātikā.
Imprisonment in Ashokavātikā
When Hanumāna saw Seetā in Ashokavātikā, she was still clad in the same
yellow garment whose piece she had dropped at Rishyamukha, along with
her jewellery. That gave Hanumāna some hope that the lady in the vātikā
could be her. Her silken garment was dirty, caked in mud. She looked
visibly weak. She had been fasting for months, waiting for Rāma. The grief
of separation from her husband and the rigours of captivity in Lankā were
evident in her eyes. She was sitting underneath a huge Ashoka tree,
surrounded by rākshasa women, looking lost and out of place, just like a
female deer who has drifted away from her pack and is surrounded by wild
dogs. But even in her sorrow, her beauty and resplendence shone through
like a flame covered in smoke.38
The Beauty of Rishi Vālmiki’s Poetry
Rishi Vālmiki is called Ādi Kavi, the foremost of the poets. He is
venerated for his language and use of similes and analogies, among other
skills. Here is an example of his eminence. While describing Seetā in
Ashokavātikā, Rishi Vālmiki writes:39
Enveloped in a veil of grief, Seetā looked like:
A memory befuddled
A destroyed wealth
A lost hope
An achievement saddled with hurdles
An abandoned faith
An unjustified, blemish-tainted fame
A troubled intellect
As Hanumāna was observing Seetā, he noticed that she was bereft of
ornaments. He was now confident that the lady was indeed Seetā. She had
thrown her ornaments at him and other vānaras at Rishyamukha. ‘This lady
with a radiant and golden complexion is surely Seetā, the beloved wife of
Rāma, who has been out of his sight but not out of his mind even for a
moment. This is Seetā for whom Rāma’s heart pines, for whom he is
overcome with love, pain, worry and sympathy, all at once—love for his
beloved, pain at her separation, worry for her well-being and sympathy for
her grief. It appears to me that her heart is in Rāma and Rāma’s in her and
that is what is keeping both of them alive,’ Hanumāna thought to himself.40
As dawn broke over the horizon, Lankā came alive with the sounds of
the chanting of Vedic mantras. Suddenly Rāvana, surrounded by his women
and bodyguards, walked in. His eyes were still groggy from the revelry of
the night before, but they couldn’t hide the lewd desire for Seetā. Seetā
cringed as he came closer, gathering herself close as if trying to hide her
body from his sight. Rāvana aggravated her unease with his shameless
proposal. ‘Why are you trying to hide from me, Seetā? Why are you afraid?
I love you, O charming lady. Accept me. Come to me. You have nothing to
fear because no one else can come here and harm you. It is not uncommon
for rākshasas to force themselves on unwilling women. It is their trait. But I
will not touch you unless you consent, even if Cupid burns my entire body,’
he said as he tempted her with ornaments, soft mattresses, beautiful clothes
and all material comforts.
‘The Creator who has made you, I believe, stopped his work after you, as
I see no other woman like you in the universe. But this youth of yours will
also pass by one day, like the flow of a river. Do not waste it. Become my
wife. What will you achieve by being loyal to Rāma? He is no match for
me, neither in strength, nor valour, nor wealth, not even in fame. Come to
me instead, and drink as you please, roam as you wish, enjoy all the
luxuries that exist—I surrender everything I have to you,’ he said, trying to
convince her.41
Seetā had weakened physically, but her grit, her devotion to Rāma and
her self-respect were as strong as ever. She rejected Rāvana’s proposal once
again. She held a straw of grass to keep Rāvana from coming too close.
‘Take your mind off me and indulge in your own wives. Like a vicious man
can never aspire to achieve spiritual growth, I cannot be aspired by you. I
am married and not worthy of being your wife. A man who is not satisfied
with his wives and covets the wives of others is destroyed by his own
wavering senses. Don’t the wise people in Lankā advise you well? Why are
you so determined to destroy the rākshasas by your sins? I am inseparable
from Rāma. No luxuries can tempt me to leave him. If you care about
protecting your people and kingdom, let me go and try to befriend Rāma.
Otherwise, your destruction is guaranteed, for you will not be able to
withstand the force of Rāma and Lakshmana. Has a dog ever survived a
fight with two tigers?’ Seetā spoke politely but firmly.42
Rāvana was furious. The unsatisfied lust and the assault on his ego due
to Seetā’s rejection were too much for him. ‘Two months—you have two
more months left from the twelve months I had given you,’ he said. ‘If you
do not climb into my bed after that, I will have you chopped and eaten for
breakfast,’ he threatened once again.43 He was visibly shaking with anger.
To calm him down, one of his wives, Dhānyamālini, came and hugged him.
She said lovingly, ‘Come, indulge me O king. Why should you amuse this
unfortunate and miserable woman? There is no happiness in her destiny.’
Other women also came and stood around Rāvana pleading with him to
return to his palace. Rāvana left, still fuming.
After Rāvana left, the rākshasa women guarding Seetā took it upon
themselves to persuade her, threatening to eat her if she didn’t acquiesce.
Seetā remained firm but she couldn’t control the tears rolling down her
cheeks. An old rākshasi, Trijatā, came to Seetā’s rescue and asked the
others to back off. She reassured Seetā that soon Rāma would come and
liberate her from her miseries.
Hanumāna watched all this. Seetā’s strength of character left him
amazed. The challenge before him was to get to Seetā to tell her about
Rāma’s efforts for her and console her. This had to be done without
alarming Seetā’s guards. He shrank his body so that he was small enough to
hide among the branches of the tree under which Seetā was sitting and
began singing the glory of Rāma, narrating the story of his exile, abduction
of Seetā and the eventual search operation undertaken by Rāma. Seetā was
astounded. She thought she was hallucinating and looked around. Then her
eyes fell on Hanumāna. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. A little
scared, she looked away, only to see him come close.
Hanumāna bowed to her and initiated the conversation. Seetā did not
speak. Then Hanumāna asked, ‘Devi, are you Seetā, the one whom Rāvana
forcefully abducted from Janasthāna? Please tell me more about yourself.’
His words helped Seetā to relax a little. She had heard about Rāma after
months. She began telling Hanumāna about herself and Rāma. She also told
him about Rāvana’s ultimatum. ‘Rāvana has given me two months to accept
his proposal. But I will not be able to survive till then. I will give up my life
if Rāma doesn’t come for me,’ she said with a sigh.
‘Devi, I have come here as a messenger of Rāma. He has sent me to find
you,’ said Hanumāna. Seetā’s face lit up. ‘I am reminded of a wise saying—
if a man remains alive, there is a chance happiness will come to him even
after a hundred years,’ she said smiling.44 Seeing her relax a little,
Hanumāna got closer. Suddenly, Seetā became suspicious of this vānara.
She remembered how Rāvana had deceived her, disguised as a sage. She
felt the knot in her stomach tighten, ‘Darn, this one is indeed Rāvana, how
did I get myself to confide in him? He has come again to deceive me,’ she
fretted in her mind. Then she wondered, ‘But, I am getting good vibes from
this one. I feel pleased seeing him, probably he is not Rāvana.’ Still, she
wanted to test Hanumāna before completely trusting him. ‘If you are indeed
the messenger of Rāma, then describe him and narrate his virtues to me,’
she said.45
Hanumāna happily complied and described the features of Rāma and
Lakshmana in detail and recounted their virtues. He also narrated to her the
agony of Rāma at her loss. ‘Not being able to see you agitates Rāma’s mind
just like how an earthquake shakes a mountain. Not even the beauty of the
rivers and forests gives any peace to his mind. Anxiety and anguish due to
separation from you don’t let him sleep at night. But now, you need not
worry. He will soon come here, kill Rāvana and his men and meet you.’46
Hanumāna then presented Seetā Rāma’s ring with his insignia.
Seetā was now fully convinced of Hanumāna’s identity. She was elated.
She became eager to meet Rāma and urged Hanumāna to request him to
come as soon as possible to take her back. Hanumāna had an idea. ‘Why
don’t you come with me right away and liberate yourself of this agony? You
may climb on my back, and I will carry you to Kishkindhā. In this way, you
can meet Rāma immediately.’ But Seetā refused to go with him. She gave
four reasons for her refusal:47
✦ Not being able to withstand Hanumāna’s speed of flight, there was a
chance she may topple into the sea.
✦ Fear of falling or being captured again due to retaliation of the rākshasas
if they got to know of her attempt to escape. If recaptured, they could
hide her elsewhere.
✦ Her belief that touching another man should be avoided as far as possible
by married women devoted to their husbands. She regretted Rāvana’s
touch when he abducted her. But at that time, she was helpless as he had
forcibly lifted her. It wasn’t her choice.
✦ Her concern for Rāma’s reputation. If Hanumāna saved her, people
would question Rāma’s valour thinking he was incapable of bringing his
wife back himself and had to rely on someone else to make it happen.
‘Hence, it will be appropriate for Rāma to come here, kill Rāvana and take
me back. That will be worthy of him,’ Seetā asserted.
Hanumāna accepted her decision and asked for a token or a sign to
confirm her identity to Rāma. Seetā narrated an intimate memory, an
incident that had happened in Chitrakoot that only she and Rāma were
witness to.
An Intimate Memory from Chitrakoot
This is the story that Seetā narrated to Hanumāna, from their days in
Chitrakoot, as a message for Rāma:
One day a crow, desirous of eating flesh flew into our āshram and kept
poking me. I tried to shoo it away, but it would hide and then return to
poke me again. I was frustrated. While trying to shoo it away again, my
lower garment slipped a little. I tried to hold and tighten it. You saw that
and laughed at me, amused. I was angry, shy and embarrassed. The crow
began to torment me again, hoping for food. In that state, I came to you
for protection.
You took me in your lap and consoled me. I was very tired and fell
asleep in your lap for quite some time. After that, I woke up and you slept
on my lap. The crow came again, pinching me and biting me between my
breasts. My warm blood from the wound fell on your face, and you woke
up. The wound between my breasts made you very angry. Your eyes fell
on the crow who had hurt me. You decided to teach him a lesson. You
shot a Brahmāstra at the crow, which followed the crow wherever it flew,
trying to escape. Trying to save its life, the crow fell at your feet.
You were kind enough to not kill it. But some punishment had to be
given because the Brahmāstra couldn’t go waste. ‘Let it hit my right eye,’
implored the crow. Thus, the crow saved its life in lieu of an eye.
For my sake, you shot a Brahmāstra at a mere crow. Why would you
then forgive the one who has abducted me this way? Have mercy on me
and come to get me, Rāma.48
Seetā also praised Lakshmana profusely and requested Hanumāna to plead
with him to come along with Rāma and rescue her. She then gave a jewel
she was wearing in her hair—a chudāmani—to Hanumāna to give it to
Rāma as a token of her identity. Hanumāna consoled her, promising to
come back soon with Rāma, Lakshmana and the entire vānara army under
the leadership of Sugreeva.
Agni Parikshā—the Test by Fire
Hanumāna returned and informed everyone of Seetā’s imprisonment in
Lankā. ‘I will remain alive for just one more month. If I don’t see Rāma by
then, I will give up my life,’ Seetā had conveyed through Hanumāna.49
Hanumāna narrated his observations of Seetā, gave her message and handed
her chudāmani to Rāma. Rāma was ecstatic and emotional, all at once, upon
seeing the chudāmani. ‘If Seetā can hold her life for another month, then I
believe she is very strong—because having learnt about her, I don’t think I
can survive another moment without seeing her now. Please take me to the
place where you saw my beloved. I cannot wait anymore.’50
Rāma, Lakshmana, Sugreeva and all the vānaras got to work
immediately. They left no stone unturned to get to Lankā. A bridge was
constructed over the ocean by Nala, another vānara, leading to Lankā. They
reached Rāvana’s capital. The war conches were blown.
Even while the war was on, Rāvana tried a couple of times to convince
Seetā that Rāma had been killed and she had no protector left. He believed
Seetā would acquiesce if Rāma was out of the way. Once, when Indrajeet,
through his power of illusion, had made Rāma and Lakshmana
unconscious, he even arranged to take her around the battlefield on his
Pushpak so that she could see them lying dead. But his efforts were futile.
Seetā’s devotion wasn’t based on any consideration of protection or luxury
for herself. For her, there was no redemption but Rāma, a fact that Rāvana
just couldn’t understand. That there are emotions of love and commitment
deeper and more profound than material and sensual pleasures, for which a
person is willing to forgo every comfort, nay even her life, and endure
every pain, was beyond his comprehension. Seetā never gave in.
Finally, the war ended. Rāvana was dead. So were most of the rākshasa
warriors. Vibhishana was crowned the king. The only task left now for
Rāma was to get Seetā back. Every second of their separation had been
torture for both Rāma and Seetā. This was the moment both had been
waiting for. Until now Rāma had a singular concern—to eliminate Seetā’s
tormentors. But now he was gripped by another apprehension—how would
his people, the people of Ayodhyā and others, who were to learn about
Seetā’s stay in Lankā, perceive her? Wouldn’t they cast aspersions on her
character for spending so many months in Rāvana’s captivity? Seetā was
more than Rāma’s wife. She was going to be the queen of Ayodhyā.
As the future king and Seetā’s husband, Rāma had to ensure his wife was
beyond suspicion. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Rāma was going to do it
anyway. After Vibhishana’s coronation, while everyone celebrated, Rāma’s
joy was visibly subdued. He did not hurry to call Seetā. Instead, he sent
Hanumāna to Ashokavātikā with a message. ‘Inform Seetā about our
victory and well-being. Also, tell her about Rāvana’s death. And ask her if
she has any message for me.’51
Hanumāna conveyed Rāma’s message to Seetā and assured her that she
was no longer a captive. Seetā choked up out of happiness. Words failed her
and she stood still, absorbing the news. After some time, she spoke, ‘The
news that you have given me Hanumāna is so precious that I don’t even
know how to felicitate you for this. I have nothing to give you to express
my gratitude.’ Hanumāna desired nothing. He was just happy to see the
sense of contentment on her face. His eyes fell on the rākshasa women who
were still around Seetā. ‘These women have given you a lot of pain. If you
allow me, I will kill them right away,’ he said. Seetā being Seetā, stopped
Hanumāna from harming the women. ‘They were not harming me out of
their volition. They were only following their master’s orders. Possibly,
what I had to live through was destiny ordained. They are not at fault. Or
even if they are, I forgive them. Let them be,’ she said.52
Hanumāna asked if she had any message for Rāma. ‘I wish to see him,’
she replied simply.53 Hanumāna returned and informed Rāma of Seetā’s
wish. Hearing Hanumāna’s words, Rāma was a little overwhelmed. His
eyes moistened. He appeared lost in thoughts. Then, looking down at the
floor, letting out a warm, deep sigh, he addressed Vibhishana, ‘Get Seetā
here without delay. Ask her to take a head bath, apply ointments and
perfumes and dress up well, adorning herself with beautiful ornaments.’54
When Vibhishana informed Seetā of Rāma’s instructions, she wondered
why he wished to see her in that way. ‘I wish to meet him right away, like
this, without a bath,’ she insisted. Vibhishana persuaded her to obey Rāma.
She agreed, took a bath, dressed in a red silk garment and decked herself in
gold ornaments. Vibhishana arranged for a palanquin to take her to Rāma.
He then informed Rāma of Seetā’s arrival to meet him. The rākshasa
soldiers began pushing the vānaras away to make way for Seetā’s
palanquin. Rāma was a little irked and stopped the soldiers. He wanted
everyone, the vānaras and the rākshasas, to see her, more so the vānaras.
They had staked their lives on his victory. ‘Ask her to get down and walk
towards me,’ he ordered.55
Lakshmana, Vibhishana, Hanumāna and others present there were
puzzled by the grimness in Rāma’s voice. They couldn’t understand why
Rāma was suddenly behaving so coldly. Seetā alighted and walked towards
Rāma. All eyes were on her. She was a little shy, a little embarrassed but the
light expectant smile of meeting her beloved danced on her face. She came
and stood beside Rāma. To her surprise, there was no emotion in Rāma’s
eyes. He looked lost and distant.
Slowly but firmly, Rāma spoke to her. His manner seemed to suggest his
words were for everyone to hear. ‘Rāvana abducted you when I was not
around. By that act, he challenged my valour. Your abduction was a stigma
on the fame of the Ikshvākus. With my effort and the support of all my
friends, I have punished Rāvana for his audacity. You must know, this entire
exercise of coming all the way to Lankā and defeating Rāvana and his men
was not meant to get you. It was meant to wash off that stigma from my
family’s name.’
Seetā looked on as if paralysed as Rāma continued, ‘There is a suspicion
about your character. You have lived with another man for so long. Given
your beauty and charm, it would have been impossible for Rāvana to resist
you. Which man in his right mind would accept his wife after she has been
indulged by another man? Therefore, having successfully risen to the
challenge that Rāvana had set for me, my job is done. You are free to go
wherever you want and with whomever you like. I will have no objection if
you want to live in the shelter of Bharata or Lakshmana or Sugreeva or
even if you wish to live here in Lankā. You are free to do whatever you
wish.’56
Everyone was dumbstruck and even disturbed. The coldness in Rāma’s
voice was palpable. But no one could muster the courage to speak up. Seetā
could no longer hold her tears. She felt as if many sharp thorns were
piercing her body simultaneously. Trying to push her tears away, she tried
to speak but choked. She took control of herself and spoke nevertheless,
slowly to begin with, ‘Why do you speak to me such bitter and harsh words
that hurt my ears? Why are you talking to me like an uncultured man
talking to an uncultured woman? I am not what you are making me out to
be. I swear on my own character. Trust me.’
Seetā continued, ‘Just because some women are unchaste, how is it fair
to doubt every woman of unwarranted behaviour? If you have known me at
all, give up this suspicion. That my body touched Rāvana’s was not because
of my desire, but because I was helpless when he lifted me. I can control
my mind and heart, which have never deviated from you. But I cannot
control anybody else touching me. After all these years of being together, if
you have not known even this much about me, then it is better for me to just
die.’
Seetā wasn’t finished yet, ‘When Hanumāna came to look for me, why
didn’t you let me know then that you were giving up on me? I would have
given up my life then and there. What was the need for you to take the
trouble of coming here and putting your friends through so much trouble?
Don’t you know that I am no ordinary woman? I am the daughter of the
earth and still you cast allegations on me like this?’57
Words were pouring out of Seetā’s heart. Rāma, her Rāma, had doubted
her character as if he had never known her. She was not going to take these
false allegations lying down. She was going to earn her self-respect and her
reputation back. ‘Lakshmana, light a pyre. This is the only medicine for my
agony. My husband has given me up. He doesn’t approve of my virtue.
Hence, I will now enter the fire,’ she instructed.58
When addressed like this by Seetā, Lakshmana looked at Rāma, his face
red with fury. He was angry at Rāma’s uncharacteristic treatment of Seetā.
But Rāma’s expressions and body language suggested Lakshmana should
do as Seetā wished. Lakshmana complied. With a heavy heart, he lit the
pyre.59 Seetā went around Rāma once, her hands folded. Rāma kept looking
down at the ground. She went before the burning pyre and proclaimed
loudly so that everyone could hear, ‘If my heart has never moved away
from Rāma ever, then let Agni, the witness of this entire world, protect me
from all sides. If I am chaste though Rāma thinks I am not, then let Agni,
the witness of this entire world, protect me from all sides. If I have never
transgressed in my commitment to Rāma, in speech, action and thought,
then let Agni, the witness of this entire world, protect me from all sides. If
the sun, wind, moon, the directions, day, evening, night and all other
devatās know me to be honourable, then let Agni protect me.’ Saying so,
Seetā, with an unwavering mind, walked right into the blazing fire as the
world looked on startled. The women let out a scream as they saw Seetā
engulfed by the flames. The gods in heaven came to witness this nerve-
wrecking event.60
Just then Brahma deva appeared to Rāma, along with other devatās.
They reminded Rāma of his divinity. ‘You are no ordinary man, O Rāma,
you are an avatār of Vishnu. You took birth to kill Rāvana and liberate the
innocents from his harassment. Be reminded of your divinity,’ he said. As if
on cue, Agni deva appeared and walked out of the pyre along with Seetā,
who looked as resplendent as before. Agni deva had protected her. That was
the testimony to her flawless character and immaculate conduct in Lankā.
‘There is not an iota of blemish in her character. She was unmoved despite
all the temptations Rāvana offered her,’ attested Agni deva.
The expressions on Rāma’s face changed. Tears of joy rolled down his
cheeks. ‘I have never had a doubt about Seetā’s character. She is protected
by the strength of her own aura. She is like a flame of fire herself,
unattainable for Rāvana. Even though I knew this all along, I didn’t stop her
from proving her virtue. It was important to bring out the truth. Against her
wish, she was forced to stay in Rāvana’s captivity. But people, not knowing
her, would have raised doubts about her character. Hence, a public
attestation was necessary to reaffirm their faith in her. Just like splendour
can never be separated from the sun, Seetā is inseparable from me. I can
never give up on her,’ said Rāma. His voice softened and he held Seetā in
his arms. Seetā held no grudges. She too had probably known all the time
that Rāma did not really doubt her. He wanted the general public to get the
proof. Seetā cooperated.
Seetā was committed to Rāma, but she was not subservient to him. She was
a princess in her own right, who did not shy away from making her desires
known and having her way, be it about accompanying Rāma to the forest or
getting him to bring her the unique gem-studded deer or forcing Lakshmana
to go look for Rāma on hearing Māreecha’s imitation of Rāma’s voice. She
was not the one to be scared by the dangers of forest life or the threats of
Rāvana. She knew that there was one man who would always be with her,
come what may. It was this confidence that made her reject Hanumāna’s
offer to be carried to Kishkindhā on his back. She chose to wait for Rāma to
come and claim her with his valour.
Just like Rāma was concerned about the blemish people would wrongly
attribute to Seetā for staying in Lankā and wanted to ensure that she was
cleared of it, Seetā too knew that if she allowed Hanumāna to take her back,
the blemish would be on Rāma, for leaving his wife unprotected in the
jungle and for not punishing the man who committed such a heinous crime.
She was not going to allow that, even if it meant another month of captivity
and mental trauma for her, and a Bhageerathi endeavour for Rāma, entailing
crossing a hundred yojanas of the ocean and taking on the mighty king of
rākshasas on his home ground.
That history may think of her as unpragmatic was not Seetā’s concern;
that history may label him harsh and unemotional was not Rāma’s concern.
What they both cared about was how history would judge their beloved.
Possibly, they weren’t thinking about history at all at that point. Their
concern was the perception of their people. And by their actions, they did
set the norms for them.
Seetā was Rāma’s Sahadharmachārini—an equal partner in dharma—in
the truest sense of the word. Theirs was a match made in heaven.
However, destiny wasn’t done adding twists to their story yet. There was
more to come!
10
Kinship in Kishkindhā
Bordering Dandakāranya towards the south was the kingdom of
Kishkindhā, ruled by Vāli, the very powerful and intelligent king of the
vānara tribe. Vāli was so strong that he could traverse the eastern, western,
northern and southern oceans every day at dawn, offering prayers to the sun
during sandhyopāsanā,1 without any trace of fatigue.2
It was said that he was mightier than even Rāvana, the king of the
rākshasas. Once Rāvana challenged Vāli to a duel. Vāli was doing
sandhyopāsanā at the time. Rāvana planned to attack him from behind. But
before Rāvana could make his move, even without looking back, Vāli
tucked him under his arm and jumped across the four seas, while offering
prayers to the sun. Rāvana had to concede that Vāli was stronger than him.
Smartly enough, Rāvana patched up with Vāli and they became good
friends after that.3
Vāli was undoubtedly extremely strong. But he was also short-tempered
and reckless. His wife was Tārā, a wise and beautiful lady. With Tārā, he
had a son named Angada. Vāli had a younger brother named Sugreeva who
resembled him in appearance and was very devoted to him. Sugreeva’s wife
was Rumā. He loved her deeply.
A tussle with a rākshasa named Māyāvi created a rift between the
brothers. A provocation by Māyāvi had led Vāli and Sugreeva to chase him.
Māyāvi entered a cave to escape. Vāli followed, ordering Sugreeva to guard
the entrance of the cave. Many days passed but Vāli did not return. Then
one day, Sugreeva saw a stream of blood flowing out from the cave and
heard screams. He assumed Vāli was dead. So he blocked the entrance of
the cave and returned to Kishkindhā. Everyone believed Vāli was dead.
They crowned Sugreeva as the king of the vānaras. According to the
customs of the tribe, the widow of an older brother could be married to the
younger brother if she consented. Thus, Sugreeva got the kingdom as well
as Tārā.
However, Vāli wasn’t dead. He killed Māyāvi and while trying to exit
the cave, found the entrance blocked. He got out anyway and came to
Kishkindhā to find Sugreeva on the throne. Vāli was fuming as he entered
the court of Sugreeva. He blamed Sugreeva for deserting him and usurping
the throne on purpose. Sugreeva fell at his feet and offered the crown to
Vāli. He tried to explain what had happened and apologised multiple times
for his misunderstanding. But Vāli was in no mood to listen. He was
thirsting for Sugreeva’s blood. To save his life, Sugreeva fled from
Kishkindhā along with four ministers. He went around the earth multiple
times to escape Vāli and finally found shelter on a mountain named
Rishyamukha, close to Kishkindhā. Vāli was prohibited from entering that
area by a curse of Rishi Mātanga. Meanwhile, with Sugreeva away, Vāli
laid claim on Rumā, Sugreeva’s wife, and forcibly took her for himself.4
Around this time, when Sugreeva was trying to keep himself safe from
Vāli in Rishyamukha, Rāma and Lakshmana encountered Kabandha during
their search for Seetā. Kabandha directed the brothers to Rishyamukha to
seek help from Sugreeva. In a way, both Sugreeva and Rāma were dealing
with similar fates, though the reasons were different. Both were forced to
leave their kingdom and their loved ones. Both had been forcibly separated
from their wives.
The Friendship
Sugreeva was initially scared when he heard about two young men arriving
in Rishyamukha. He was certain it was another plan of Vāli to trick and kill
him. But once Hanumāna, one of his ministers and confidantes, confirmed
their identities and reasons for coming to Rishyamukha, he relaxed. Rāma
and Sugreeva shared their sorrows and bonded over their afflictions. One
needed to find and get his wife back from Rāvana, the other needed to get
his wife back from Vāli and ward off danger to his life by eliminating Vāli.
They agreed to support each other in their respective endeavours. Sugreeva
extended his hand in friendship and Rāma happily accepted it and embraced
Sugreeva. Hanumāna quickly rubbed two wooden sticks to create fire.
Rāma and Sugreeva circumambulated the fire to cement their bond of
friendship formally. Sugreeva promised to extend every kind of support to
Rāma to look for Seetā and get her back safely. Rāma promised to kill Vāli
and end the threat to Sugreeva’s life.5
The Importance of Agni
Agni or Fire is one of the pancha mahābhutas—the five basic elements of
nature. In Vedic culture, Agni is a very important deity. The very first
sukta of Rigveda is for Agni. The first verse is ‘
—Om Agnimeele purohitam’. The seer praises Agni as the
priest of the devas, the bestower of wealth and prosperity, one with
miraculous powers and one established in truth, among other things.
Agni is considered as the medium that connects the humans to the
divine, as the carrier of our prayers and oblations to the gods. It is also
considered as the witness of the entire world and has a quality to purify.
Hence, most Hindu rituals involve Agni in some form as yajna or ārti.
Hindus cremate their dead. Marriages happen with Agni as sākshi or
witness. Oaths are taken over Agni. A promise made or oath taken in the
presence of Agni is considered as an inviolable commitment.
Hearing about Seetā’s abduction, Sugreeva was reminded of an incident that
occurred some months ago. They had seen a rākshasa flying away with a
woman who seemed to have been forcibly captured. The woman had
dropped a piece of the yellow cloth she was wearing along with some
ornaments. Sugreeva showed the ornaments to Rāma to check if they were
Seetā’s. Rāma saw the ornaments and was once again overcome with
sorrow. The ornaments were definitely Seetā’s. This corroborated what
Jatāyu had told them about Rāvana flying away with Seetā.
But before beginning the search for Seetā, it was important to get
Sugreeva crowned the king of Kishkindhā. That would entail killing Vāli.
Rāma sounded very confident about achieving the feat. Sugreeva, however,
was not sure if Rāma knew enough about him. Vāli was exceptionally
powerful. Killing him was not going to be child’s play. Sugreeva wanted to
educate Rāma about his opponent and, more importantly, test if Rāma was
capable enough to rise to the challenge.
‘I have no misgivings about your abilities, but I must honestly tell you
about Vāli so that you can make an informed decision about your plan of
action,’ said Sugreeva to Rāma. ‘Vāli strides across the four oceans praying
to the sun at dawn. He climbs on mountain peaks, picks up huge boulders
and throws them high up in the sky, only to catch them back. The big
boulders are his toys. He uprooted many huge trees in the forest with his
arms, just to prove his strength. Once there lived a mighty rākshasa named
Dundubhi who was in the form of a buffalo. He was as gigantic as the peak
of Kailāsh, no less. Dundubhi was known to possess the strength of a
thousand elephants. To prove his might, Dundubhi went around challenging
all who he believed were powerful. But none had the daring to accept his
challenge.’
Sugreeva continued the story. ‘Then he was told about Vāli’s prowess.
So Dundubhi came to Vāli and challenged him. Vāli was inebriated at that
time. But he still accepted the challenge. He came out of his palace, took
the huge buffalo by his horns, swirled him around and with full force flung
him on the ground. Vāli repeated the swirling and flinging multiple times
till blood gushed out of every part of Dundubhi’s body. The rākshasa died
without even putting up a fight. Vāli then lifted the corpse of the dead
Dundubhi and flung it one yojana away. The blood-soaked corpse fell near
Rishi Mātanga’s āshram in Rishyamukha. Rishi Mātanga was upset because
his sacred space had been polluted by the corpse and the blood. He
punished Vāli by prohibiting him from entering this area. Because of that
prohibition, I am able to take shelter here with my ministers. Such is Vāli of
unmatched strength. How will you be able to kill him?’ asked Sugreeva,
worry evident in his voice. He also showed Rāma and Lakshmana the
skeleton of Dundubhi that was still lying in the area.6
‘Hmm, what do you want Rāma to do to prove that he can easily kill
Vāli?’ asked Lakshmana smiling. One should test even one’s close friends
before trusting their abilities completely, is a precept leaders are told to live
by. Sugreeva was a pragmatic leader. He had thought of ways to test Rāma
already. ‘Vāli can shake these seven sālā trees one after another so
vigorously that they shed all their leaves. If Rāma can fell even one of these
trees with one arrow, I will have faith that Vāli will be killed by him. And if
he can lift and kick the skeleton of Dundubhi two hundred bow-lengths
away, I will be fully confident of Vāli’s defeat,’ he said, while explaining
his position. ‘I am fortunate to get a friend in you, Rāma, please do not
misunderstand. I do not mean this as an insult to you. It is just that I am
aware of how indomitable Vāli is. I fear him. And I do not know enough
about your strength.’7
Rāma did not mind being tested. He understood Sugreeva’s concern. ‘If
you do not trust my abilities yet, I will inspire confidence in you with my
actions,’ he said. He went near Dundubhi’s skeleton. He simply flicked his
big toe, and the skeleton was lifted and flung ten yojanas away. It was an
unbelievable feat, but Sugreeva realised it was not enough, for Vāli was a
formidable match. The skeleton was much lighter than the corpse which
had its flesh and blood intact when Vāli threw it. He requested Rāma to
pierce the sālā tree, too.8
Rāma held his magnificent bow, adjusted his arrow and pulled the string.
The sound of the string reverberated through the jungle. The arrow zoomed
through, piercing one tree after another. With just one arrow Rāma had
pierced seven trees simultaneously. Sugreeva was stunned. He had no more
doubts about Rāma’s dexterity and prowess.9
They now hatched a plan to get Vāli to come out and fight. Sugreeva
would challenge Vāli to a duel and Rāma would kill Vāli while hiding
behind the trees in the jungle. As per the plan, Sugreeva went to the gates of
Kishkindhā and called for Vāli to come out and fight with him. Hearing
Sugreeva’s voice, Vāli was red with fury. He rushed out screaming for
Sugreeva’s blood. A gory duel began between the two. Both mauled each
other with their blows. Rāma watched the fight from behind the trees in the
forest. Both of them appeared the same to him. They had the same build
and similar features. Rāma was confused and didn’t want to shoot till he
was sure his arrow would not kill Sugreeva. A mistake would be a disaster.
While Rāma waited for the opportune moment to identify and kill Vāli,
Vāli had significantly injured Sugreeva. Sensing that there was no help
forthcoming, Sugreeva ran away from the field to save his life. Mutilated
and indignant, he came back to Rishyamukha where Rāma was waiting for
him.
‘If you had no intentions of helping me, why did you encourage me to
challenge Vāli? Look at how he has mangled me,’ Sugreeva groaned in
agony. ‘Do not be so upset,’ replied Rāma. The reason I didn’t shoot was to
avoid hitting you by mistake. You and Vāli look very similar. Your
mannerisms are alike. I was confused about who is who. But don’t worry. I
will do what will give you pleasure soon,’ promised Rāma. He asked
Lakshmana to give Sugreeva a big mālā—a necklace—made of Gaja
Pushpa, a kind of a creeper. Rāma would then be able to easily identify
Sugreeva during the fight.10
Sugreeva was convinced. He went back to Kishkindhā to challenge Vāli
in the early hours of the morning. Vāli got out of his bed, full of wrath, and
began rushing out to tramp Sugreeva under his feet. But Tārā was
suspicious. She attempted to stop Vāli from acting recklessly and urged him
to think before accepting the challenge. ‘Don’t give in to anger which
comes rushing to you like a stream of river. It is very early in the morning.
Wait for an appropriate time to respond. Going out now doesn’t seem right
to me. Think about it. Just yesterday, Sugreeva came calling upon you for a
fight but got badly mauled by you and ran away. And he has come back
again to challenge you. Isn’t it too soon? Something is not right here. The
arrogance and the confidence in his voice when he talks of defeating you do
not seem trivial either,’ she reasoned.
‘He is certainly not alone,’ she added. ‘He has been guaranteed support
by some mighty person. Sugreeva is an intelligent man. He is not likely to
befriend anyone before he tests the person’s strength. I have heard some
news through Angada. Sugreeva has been seen with two princes of
Ayodhyā, Rāma and Lakshmana. Both the princes look tough and are
known to have never lost a battle. I do not approve of you antagonising
them. Rather, make peace with Sugreeva, appoint him the crown prince of
Kishkindhā as earlier and make the princes of Ayodhyā your allies. After
all, Sugreeva is your younger brother, and you should be looking out for
him instead of baying for his blood. I do not see anyone else who can be
good and dedicated like a brother as Sugreeva is to you. Hence, give up
hostility and call him by your side. If you believe that I love you dearly and
I am saying all this for your benefit, then please consider my words. Enmity
with Rāma is not in our favour,’ appealed Tārā.11
Vāli, as if wanting to welcome death, ignored Tārā’s wise counsel.
‘There is no way I will allow an opponent roaring like that, desiring to
fight, to walk away without punishment. I will fight and teach him a lesson
right away. And why will Rāma do anything to me? I have no enmity with
him at all. I will destroy Sugreeva’s arrogance, but I will not kill him,’ he
said and went out of the palace, much to Tārā’s dismay.
The Killing of Vāli
Vāli saw Sugreeva standing in front of him and was overcome with
excessive anger. An intense combat began between the two brothers, each
wrestling the other with vengeance. At one point, Vāli overpowered
Sugreeva. Sugreeva seemed too weak to retaliate. Rāma was standing at a
distance and observing the fight intently. When he saw Sugreeva failing, he
swiftly mounted an arrow on his bow, took an aim at Vāli and shot it. The
momentum of the arrow and the reverberations of the string of the bow
rattled everything around. Rāma’s aim was unfailing. The arrow cut through
Vāli’s chest with such a force that the towering monkey instantly collapsed
to the ground with a thud. Blood gushed out of his body, colouring the earth
around red.12
Vāli was in immense pain. His end was near, but his magnificent aura
and his fighting spirit were intact. He was angry, upset and confused, all at
once. How and from where did the arrow come and hit him like that? It was
unfair and underhand to hit someone engaged in a combat with another
opponent. Who had done such a treacherous act? He was to learn about it
soon.
As soon as he fell, Rāma, Lakshmana and other ministers of Sugreeva
gathered at the place where the vānara brothers had been fighting and where
Vāli lay grievously injured now, waiting for answers and his death. They
stood respectfully before Vāli. Despite his vices driven by extreme ego and
anger, Vāli was a person of unmatched strength and valour. He was
unassailable in most combats. For that, he deserved reverence, no less.
Seeing Rāma and Lakshmana, Vāli guessed who the perpetrators were.
Addressing them, he asked, ‘You both are the famous sons of King
Dasharatha, aren’t you? I was fighting my opponent, not you. But I will die
today because of you. What have you achieved by killing me? Tārā had
warned me about you. But considering your kingly virtues and the
reputation of your family, I ignored her pleadings. I was confident you will
not attack me from behind my back when I was engaged in a fight with
someone else. Alas, I was wrong. You are only clad in a cloak of dharma. In
reality, you are unethical men, deceptive like the unseen flame of fire
covered by a sheath of grass.’
‘I don’t remember having harassed or insulted you ever,’ Vāli continued.
‘Nor do I remember creating any problem in your city or kingdom. I am a
simple forest dweller subsisting on fruits and roots, roaming in these
jungles. Why then did you resort to such treachery even though you are
born in a reputed royal family to a well-known king and have the wisdom to
know what is right and wrong? Land, gold or silver assets are usually a
cause of conflict between people. But there is no such conflict between us.
Our assets are our forests and fruits. What greed made you commit such a
crime? A king has the right to dispense punishment and favour, but he is
expected to be responsible for making use of this right and not be capricious
about it. By attacking me you have clearly displayed your fickle-
mindedness, as I am completely innocent in relation to you.’
Vāli continued his tirade. ‘Hunting in the forests is allowed to kings. The
objective is to gather valuable resources in the form of animal skin or meat
for food. But flesh and skin of us vānaras are of no use to you because our
skin is unwearable, and flesh is inedible. What led you to kill me then? My
wife, Tārā, was prescient but I didn’t listen to her and here I am, lying
helplessly, waiting for death. Or is it that you undertook such a vile task to
favour Sugreeva so that he can help you to find Seetā? That too, I think was
unwise of you. If you had sought my help, I would have simply tied a rope
around Rāvana’s neck and brought him before you without the need of a
war.’
Vāli added, ‘I am not upset that I am going to die soon. One who is born
is bound to die at some point. Nor am I upset that Sugreeva will get the
throne of Kishkindhā after I am dead. But what bothers me is that you have
killed me unrighteously.’ Vāli’s breath was becoming heavier with every
word.13
Vāli deserved an answer and Rāma obliged, explaining in detail why his
action was aligned with dharma, not otherwise. He said, ‘Vāli, you talk like
one who understands dharma, but you don’t. You should know that this
whole region including the forests and mountains is under allegiance to the
kings of Kosala. They hold the right and responsibility to dispense justice in
this region. Bharata is the king of Kosala currently and I am his
representative in this region. Wherever we see dharma being undermined, it
behoves us to step in to restore it and punish the unrighteous ones. Giving
in to your sensual indulgences and baser instincts, you had gone astray from
the path of your Rāja Dharma. The wise people in the region have always
criticised you for this.’14
‘An elder brother is like a father and a guru to the younger brother, who
is akin to his son and student,’ Rāma continued. ‘Given the stature, it is
important for an elder brother to have a nuanced understanding of dharma
about what is doable and what is not. You forcibly took away your younger
brother’s wife, your own daughter-in-law, to satisfy your desires. By this
one act, you failed in upholding your dharma. In fact, you committed an
unforgivable crime that necessitated punishing you. Anyone who commits a
crime that sets the wrong precedence and leads to perversion in society
must be necessarily punished.’15
‘In a civilised society,’ Rāma added, ‘a man who looks at his daughter,
daughter-in-law, sister or younger brother’s wife with lust must be
punished. I cannot condone such depravity. Punishment of such act is
death.’ Rāma’s stand was unequivocal.16
‘Moreover, Sugreeva is like Lakshmana to me,’ Rāma continued, ‘a
younger brother who came to seek my support to get his wife and kingdom
back. I promised to get him justice. There was no way that I wouldn’t have
fulfilled my promise.’
‘If you, being a king,’ Rāma went on, ‘would have behaved like a king,
you would have done what I did. Let me tell you the edict that the scriptures
have for kings in this regard. If a criminal gets punished by the king for his
wrongdoing, and the person accepts the punishment, then he doesn’t accrue
the bad karma associated with that crime any longer. He is cleansed of that
sin. However, if the king doesn’t punish the wrongdoer, the bad karma of
that action accrues to the king, who eventually must suffer the
consequences of it. In the past, an ascetic had committed such a grave crime
as yours. My ancestor Mandhātā had given him as severe a punishment as
prescribed by the scriptures. Hence, accept your death as a punishment and
harbour no ill will. It will cleanse you of your grave misdeeds.’17
And finally, in reply to Vāli’s comparison of his killing with hunting
‘non-useful’ animals, Rāma said, ‘And if you believe that you are like any
other wild animal in the forest and my killing of you is like hunting, then
you shouldn’t be upset with me at all. Hunting is allowed to kings and there
is no prohibition on who can be hunted. In hunting, there are no rules
stopping the hunter from killing his prey from behind or by using tricks.
Thus, from that perspective too, what I did was right.’18
Karma and Punishment
The edict regarding importance of punishment for a crime to cleanse the
doer of the bad karma is also found in Manusmriti.19
The thief becomes absolved from the theft, either through punishment
or through acquittal. By not punishing the thief, the king imbibes the guilt
of the thief (3.10).
Men who, having committed crimes, have been punished by kings,
become freed from guilt, and go to heaven, just like well-behaved good
men (3.18).
–Translation by Gangānāth Jhā
The same injunction is found in other Dharmashāstras as well, such as
Bodhāyana Sutras, Yājnavalkya Smriti, etc.
Vāli was trumped by his own arguments. He realised his folly. There were
no more questions clouding his mind. But he was a smart person. He
wanted to ensure that his only son, Angada, was taken care of after his
death. He had also understood that Rāma held no malice towards him
personally and was firmly established in dharma. The only way to secure
his son’s future was by surrendering his care to Rāma. He knew that
Sugreeva, being indebted to Rāma, would follow Rāma’s instructions. Vāli
performed his last duty as a father. ‘Rāma, I have one request to make of
you. I do not grieve for myself or Tārā, but I am worried about my son.
Angada has excellent virtues. He has been brought up with a lot of love and
care until now. Seeing me dead, he will be devastated. I urge you to take
him under your care and protect him. Please look out for both Sugreeva and
Angada and advise them on what should be done and what should not be
done. Take care of them, like you care for Lakshmana. Please look after
Tārā as well. Ensure Sugreeva doesn’t treat her as a criminal because of
me,’ he requested.20 Rāma assured him that Tārā and Angada would be
cared for like before.
Because of immense loss of blood, Vāli had become very weak. He
fainted but opened his eyes again after some time. By then, Tārā and
Angada had also come by his side. This time Vāli addressed Sugreeva.
‘Sugreeva, after I am gone, do not harbour any animosity against me. It
seems to me that some past karmas made us antagonistic towards each other
despite being born as brothers. Accept this kingdom of Kishkindhā. I
hereby renege my claim on the kingdom and all its wealth. But please take
care of my son who is dearer to me than my own life. Angada is as valiant
and strong as you are. He will always be at the forefront in the wars you
fight and the tasks you undertake. Also, do not disregard Tārā. She is a very
erudite woman with strong, intuitive power. If she gives any advice, follow
it without hesitation,’ he advised.21
Vāli also had a message for Angada. ‘Son, understand the exigencies of
place and time. Whatever you get, happiness and sorrow, as destined,
endure it. Cultivate forgiveness in your heart and obey your Uncle
Sugreeva. Never align with his enemies. Remain loyal to him and follow
his orders. Don’t get over-attached to anything, nor become indifferent.
Develop a sense of equanimity towards everything you do.’ These were
Vāli’s last words. He passed away soon after. Even in his last moments, he
knew exactly what the most pragmatic approach was for his son to adopt.22
Tārā was devastated. She wished to give up her life on Vāli’s funeral
pyre. Hanumāna consoled her and reminded her of her responsibilities
towards Angada. Rāma suggested that Sugreeva should be coronated
without delay and Angada should be declared as the crown prince of
Kishkindhā.
There is a popular story about this incident. Vāli is said to have a boon
through which, in face-to-face combat, he obtained half the strength of his
opponent and became stronger, leaving the opponent weaker by half. This
boon, it is said, was the reason for Rāma attacking Vāli from behind.
This story is not found in Vālmiki Rāmāyana.
Tārā Saves the Day for Sugreeva
The monsoons had already arrived by the time the coronation of Sugreeva
took place. Monsoon was a time of relaxing and rebuilding. All those who
were travelling returned to their homes. No military expeditions were
undertaken at that time. So Rāma decided to wait for autumn to start the
search for Seetā again. He and Lakshmana stayed in a cave in the Prasavana
mountains while Sugreeva settled in Kishkindhā. Time went by rather
slowly for Rāma. Sleep had deserted him. He was reminded of Seetā in
every waking moment. Pangs of separation from his beloved were
becoming more and more intense.
When the rains stopped and the skies cleared, the onset of autumn was
evident. But Sugreeva was nowhere to be found. Rāma and Lakshmana
started getting uneasy but decided to give him some more time.
Back in Kishkindhā, Sugreeva was revelling in luxuries he had been
deprived of for so long while trying to save his life from Vāli. He was in a
state of intoxication all the time, surrounded by women who happily did his
bidding. He lost sense of time. The day-to-day administration of
Kishkindhā was being managed by his ministers.
But Hanumāna hadn’t forgotten the promise that Sugreeva had made to
Rāma. Having observed the change in season, Hanumāna reminded
Sugreeva about it. Sugreeva, still in a state of drunkenness, ordered all the
vānaras from across Bhāratavarsha to gather in Kishkindhā in two weeks,
and went back to his revelry. Hanumāna arranged for the orders to be sent
out.
All this while, Rāma and Lakshmana received no communication from
Sugreeva. Rāma was forgiving and kind, but he had a strong sense of duty.
He held himself and others accountable for what was committed. If
Sugreeva had forgotten, he needed to be reminded. If Sugreeva believed he
could get away after getting his work done and not reciprocate, he was
underestimating Rāma and needed to be put in place.
Rāma sent Lakshmana to Kishkindhā to remind Sugreeva of his duties.
Rāma’s message to Sugreeva was concise and clear, without mincing
words, ‘The road by which Vāli has gone hasn’t closed yet. With just one
arrow I felled him. Now if you renege on your responsibility, you will meet
the same fate, rest assured.’ At the same time, Rāma clearly instructed
Lakshmana to only threaten Sugreeva, not kill him. Sugreeva was a friend,
after all, who only needed some prodding.23
Lakshmana went to Kishkindhā carrying Rāma’s warning. His body
language and expression were enough to convey his anger. The vānaras
who saw him enter were initially combative, but Lakshmana’s ire scared
them. Lakshmana saw Angada and ordered him to inform Sugreeva of his
arrival. Angada did as he was told. Sugreeva, though drowsy and drunk,
was surprised on hearing about Lakshmana’s anger. ‘Making friends is easy
but maintaining friendships is not. I am forever indebted to Rāma for doing
what he has done for me. I think someone is instigating them against me,’
surmised Sugreeva before his ministers.
The wise Hanumāna judged the situation correctly. ‘Although you
haven’t forgotten Rāma’s favour and friendship,’ he said, ‘in your revelry,
you lost track of time. Autumn is underway. You haven’t informed Rāma
and Lakshmana about how you plan to help them look for Seetā. I do not
see any other reason for their ire. It is best for you to seek pardon from
Lakshmana and expedite the search operation. It will not be wise to anger
Rāma and Lakshmana.’ Hanumāna, added, ‘A minister must always give
advice which is in the interest of the king. Hence I have said all this without
fear.’24
By then, walking through the wide and well-laid streets of Kishkindhā,
Lakshmana had entered Sugreeva’s palace. The luxuries of the palace and
Sugreeva’s revelry were a stark contrast to Rāma’s pain and this angered
Lakshmana even more. On seeing Lakshmana, Sugreeva, his eyes still
bloodshot, stumbled towards him with folded hands. Lakshmana was
seething. ‘Sugreeva, only a king who has controlled his senses, is grateful,
truthful and patient, is respected by his citizens—not the one who, giving in
to vices, forgets the favours done to him by his friends. An ungrateful man
who gets his work done but reneges on his promises deserves to be killed.’
Saying thus, Lakshmana repeated the warning given by Rāma in as many
words.25
Sugreeva couldn’t say a word but Tārā, who was standing close to him,
responded, politely but assertively, ‘Lakshmana, Sugreeva doesn’t deserve
to hear such harsh words from a friend like you. He is not a cheat nor
ungrateful, neither untrue nor cruel. He hasn’t for a moment forgotten that it
is through Rāma that he has obtained this kingdom and all its luxuries,
along with Rumā and me. All these years he suffered hardships due to
Vāli’s anger. Now, after so long, when he tasted luxuries and pleasure
again, he lost track of time. Sensual pleasure sometimes has this impact on
people who are otherwise great and virtuous. Haven’t we heard the story of
Rishi Vishvāmitra and the nymph, wherein lust made the rishi forget about
his tapasyā? If it can happen to a rishi, what can we say to Sugreeva, who
was deprived of these pleasures for so many years?’
Building Sugreeva’s case, Tārā continued, ‘A wise person like you
shouldn’t react out of anger. It is my firm belief that if required, Sugreeva
will give up everyone and everything just to honour his promise to Rāma. I
have heard that Lankā has innumerable mighty rākshasas. You won’t be
able to defeat them and bring Seetā out safely without help. You will
certainly need Sugreeva’s assistance to make that happen. In fact, he has
already called vānaras from across the region to assemble in Kishkindhā,
only for the sake of Rāma. Now he is just waiting for them to reach here so
that the expedition can begin. Hence, give up your fury and rest assured the
work will be done.’26
Very smartly and concisely, Tārā not only explained Sugreeva’s lapse but
also politely suggested to Lakshmana that Sugreeva was an important ally
for the fulfilment of their objective.
After Lakshmana had calmed down, Sugreeva apologised for his
indiscretion and reaffirmed his gratefulness as well as loyalty to Rāma.
The vānara contingents arrived soon after and the search for Seetā began.
The Search
Trying to save his life from Vāli, Sugreeva had travelled across the earth in
every direction. That had helped him gather a lot of information about the
geographies and people of different regions. His knowledge of world
geography was one reason why Kabandha had directed Rāma to Sugreeva.
Who better than an expert in geography to guide a search operation? Once
all the vānaras had gathered, Sugreeva asked Rāma to decide the course of
action, ‘Our teams are well versed in undertaking such operations. Even so,
we are all here to follow your commands. Please give orders as you
consider appropriate, and we will follow them.’
Rāma was an astute administrator. He could read people well and gauge
their capabilities. He knew how to delegate tasks, inspire ownership and get
work done. Hugging Sugreeva, Rāma smiled and replied, ‘Our objective is
to determine where Rāvana lives, where he has taken Seetā and whether
Seetā is alive. Once that is known, we will plan our next steps together. For
now, you are the expert and best suited to give relevant instructions for the
search operations. Neither I nor Lakshmana has the knowledge that you
have in this regard. You are my well-wisher just like Lakshmana, and you
understand our objective very well. Hence, please give orders as you deem
fit.’27
Sugreeva then took over and divided the contingent into four groups to
look for Seetā, one for each of the four directions. He appointed Vinata to
lead the contingent to the east, Sushena to the west, and Shatabali to the
north. As Rāvana was seen taking Seetā towards the south and Lankā was
known to be in the south as well, he sent Angada, Hanumāna, Jāmbavana,
Nala and Neela, some of his most trusted ministers, in the southern
direction. Sugreeva gave all the groups detailed instructions about the major
landmarks they would find and the characteristics of people they would see
in those regions. He gave them a month’s time to come back with their
information.
Given the probability of finding Seetā southwards, Sugreeva had some
additional instructions for Hanumāna. ‘Endowed with brain, brawn and
bravery, you are also an expert in management and polity and have a deep
understanding of time and place. I do not see anyone else more capable than
you in accomplishing our task. Hence, think through thoroughly and do
what is needed to be done to find Seetā,’ he told him. Observing the trust
Sugreeva had placed in Hanumāna, and his own experience with him thus
far, Rāma too felt hopeful that Hanumāna would come back with the happy
news. Therefore, he gave Hanumāna the ring he wore on his finger that had
his insignia. ‘This ring will convince Seetā that you have been sent by me
and she will place trust in you without fear,’ he said.28
The three groups from the north, west and east returned after a month but
had nothing to report. The group that went south hadn’t even reached the
seashore in a month. They initially got lost in the labyrinth of a cave but
were shown out safely by a saintly woman, Swayamprabhā. She guided
them to the shore. The path ahead was still unclear. A vast ocean lay before
the vānaras, but where were they to go and how? Angada decided to fast
unto death. He thought returning to Kishkindhā would mean death anyway,
as his Uncle Sugreeva would punish him with death for failing to find
Seetā.
But a chance meeting with Sampāti changed their course of action.
Sampāti was Jatāyu’s elder brother. Sampāti was pained on hearing about
Jatāyu’s death at the hands of Rāvana and pledged to help the vānaras to the
best of his ability. He had an eagle’s vision. He could see Seetā in Rāvana’s
Lankā situated a hundred yojanas across the ocean. The challenge now was
to reach Lankā. Who could possibly leap across a hundred yojanas and
come back safe?
Angada had the strength, but he was the crown prince. It was not a good
idea to send him. The mantle fell on the shoulders of Hanumāna. Though
unsure to begin with, Hanumāna successfully reached Lankā, found Seetā,
created havoc in Lankā and returned safely to Kishkindhā to inform
everyone about Seetā’s whereabouts. Rāma was elated. He hugged
Hanumāna tightly. His heart finally found some peace.
The task at hand was even more challenging. How were all of them
going to cross the ocean to reach Lankā? Hanumāna, Angada, Neela and
Sugreeva were the only ones who could leap across, but it was an
impossible feat for the others. With the answer to that question still unclear,
they decided to reach the seashore first and think about the solution after
that. The entire contingent of vānaras along with Rāma, Lakshmana and
Sugreeva arrived at the coastline.
After Hanumāna had given a taste of his powers to the people of Lankā,
Rāvana had begun to keep a close eye on the activities of Rāma and
Lakshmana. Though publicly he said he was confident that they could never
reach Lankā, he knew that the act of Hanumāna was out of the ordinary.
Hanumāna had informed him about the alliance between Sugreeva and
Rāma. Rāvana had very good relations with Vāli. After the initial drubbing
that Rāvana had received at Vāli’s hands, Rāvana had patched up and the
two had become close like brothers. Rāvana wished to exploit that
relationship to create a rift between the Sugreeva and Rāma. He sent his
messenger Shuka to Sugreeva with a message.
The message said, ‘Sugreeva, you are born in the respectable family of
Riksharāja and are yourself a very powerful king. I have always considered
you my brother. We have no animosity whatsoever between us. Even if we
may not have actively helped each other in the past, we have done nothing
to harass each other either. I have abducted Rāma’s wife, which is his
problem and of no concern to you. There is no chance that you can cross the
ocean and come to Lankā, anyway. It is better for you and your people to
return to Kishkindhā.’
Sugreeva was unconvinced. He had deep gratitude for what Rāma had
done for him. He was also aware of Rāma’s strength and ire. Sugreeva was
not going to switch sides. He responded firmly to Shuka’s message.
‘Rāvana, neither are you my friend, nor are you dear to me, nor have you
done anything that I must be grateful for. Being an enemy of Rāma, you are
worthy of being killed by me. I will certainly come to Lankā with my army
and destroy you and your kingdom. You don’t seem to realise that you have
called upon your destruction by cowardly kidnapping Seetā when she was
alone in her āshram. Rāma is invincible. You don’t seem to understand that
he will end your life soon,’ he said, reiterating his commitment to Rāma’s
cause.29
Before Shuka could leave, Angada caught hold of him. ‘He is not a
messenger but a spy who has come here to assess our strength and sow
seeds of disharmony among us,’ conjectured Angada. Sugreeva agreed and
ordered his imprisonment. Shuka was allowed to go on Rāma’s advice, only
after they reached Lankā and organised their army. Shuka’s release was
strategic. Rāma knew Shuka would tell Rāvana everything he had learnt
about the vānara army. His observations couldn’t harm the vānaras anymore
as they were already in Lankā, but it would help rattle Rāvana’s self-
confidence.
Nala Setu
The vānara army camped by the shore for a few days. The challenge of
crossing the ocean remained. Then help came totally unexpected, in the
form of Vibhishana, Rāvana’s younger brother, who defected to Rāma’s
side. He suggested that Rāma should meditate on the deity of the ocean,
Varun deva, and seek help. Accordingly, for three days and three nights,
Rāma meditated on Varun deva, but to no avail.
Time was running out but Varun deva showed no signs of being
appeased. His obstinacy angered Rāma. He threatened to dry the ocean of
all its waters for such audacious stubbornness, only to be held back by
Lakshmana. Varun deva finally emerged and provided a solution to their
dilemma. ‘Make a setu—a bridge—over me. This vānara Nala who is with
you has the grace of Vishvakarmā. Entrust him with the task. He is capable
of building a bridge that will allow all of you to get to Lankā,’ he said.30
On hearing Varun deva’s words, Nala spoke, ‘What Varun deva has
stated about me is true. I am born of Vishvakarmā. He gave a boon to my
mother that the son born through them would be like him in capabilities and
skills. As I was not asked about this before, it was not right for me to boast.
But I believe I will be able to construct a bridge across the ocean.’ Saying
this, Nala got to work right away. He gave clear instructions for the material
he wanted and how to procure it. The vānara army enthusiastically started
bringing material from the forest in the form of boulders, rocks and trunks
of all types of trees, including Sāla, Arjuna, Ashoka, mango and bamboo.
They uprooted trees of coconut, neem and Bakul and also brought various
shrubs and reeds.
Boulders as big as mountains were thrown into the sea. From the shrubs
and the barks of trees, strong ropes were made to keep the rocks in
alignment. The material collected from the forest was used to bind the
stones and tree trunks together. Long reeds were used to fasten parts of the
bridge together.
On the first day, 14 yojanas of the bridge was constructed, followed by
20 yojanas, 21 yojanas, 22 yojanas and 23 yojanas on consecutive days. In
five days, a hundred yojanas long and ten yojanas wide bridge was built by
the vānaras. Nala had made the impossible possible. His bridge was
comparable in style and strength to what Vishvakarmā would have built
himself. Huge, well-constructed and held tightly together, the bridge looked
like a long, beautiful line cutting through the ocean.31
Using the bridge, the army, along with Rāma, Lakshmana and Sugreeva,
crossed the ocean and set foot on the glorious city of Lankā. Till then,
Rāvana had assumed he was invincible. Hanumāna’s exploits had shaken
him but even then, even in his wildest dream, he had not imagined that a
bridge could be constructed over the ocean, allowing thousands and
thousands of vānaras to descend on Lankā.
Nala Setu: A Civil Engineering Marvel
In some re-tellings, the construction of the bridge is presented more
allegorically. They say that the vānaras threw stones inscribed with
Rāma’s name in the ocean. The stones simply floated on the ocean,
making a bridge, using which the contingent crossed over to Lankā. The
allusion is made to the power of Rāma nāma. Such narrations must be
understood as the expression of the poet’s bhakti in Shri Rāma.
In Vālmiki Rāmāyana, the event is described in detail, not as magic that
defies science but as a civil engineering construction project par
excellence.
The War
Before formally sounding the war conches, Rāma wanted to give Rāvana
one last chance to return Seetā and avert the war. He sent Angada to
Rāvana’s court to convey the message. But peace was not to be. Rāvana
tried to capture Angada but the latter was brave and agile. He escaped
through the ceiling of Rāvana’s palace.
Sugreeva took charge of the war strategy with Vibhishana’s input and
arranged the army so that they could counter the attacks from all the four
gates of Lankā. The rākshasa army had weapons of all kinds. The vānaras
fought with their bare hands and sheer might, using tree trunks and rocks
for weapons. Still, they were more than a match for the rākshasas. Many
commanders of Rāvana received a good thrashing at their hands.
There were times when the rākshasas overpowered the vānaras,
especially when Kumbhakarna entered the fight. He was a colossal cannibal
—huge in size and cannibalistic in nature. His entry itself sent shudders in
the vānara army. Innumerable vānaras were trampled by him. Innumerable
vānaras were mutilated and even more were eaten by him. The earth was
drenched in the blood of the vānaras due to Kumbhakarna’s assault.
The vānaras got so terrified of Kumbhakarna that many began to run
away from the battlefield. It was Angada’s leadership and motivation that
brought them back and gave them the strength to fight. Angada coaxed
them by igniting their pride. He reminded them of their family honour and
how being called cowards would bring a bad name to their families. He
lured them with dreams of victory if they lived and of heaven if they died
fighting bravely. His encouragement worked. The vānaras returned,
determined to fight till their last breath.32
It was impossible to match Kumbhakarna in physical strength. Following
Lakshmana’s suggestion, the vānaras decided to use their numerical
strength to counter him. Many vānaras climbed on him and started biting
him with their teeth and scratching him with their nails. Angada and
Sugreeva lead the attack on the ground. Kumbhakarna was irritated but
remained unfazed by the vānara assault.
At one point, Kumbhakarna hit Sugreeva so hard that the latter fainted.
To the shock of the vānaras, Kumbhakarna lifted Sugreeva on his head and
headed back to the city. But Sugreeva regained his consciousness soon.
Using his nails and teeth, he began biting Kumbhakarna’s ears and ripped
the rākshasa’s chest, causing blood to flow. Kumbhakarna’s grip loosened.
Sugreeva immediately leaped out and escaped to his camp.
This was the second time Sugreeva’s life had been endangered. The first
time he got into trouble was during a tussle with Rāvana. This happened
even before the war had begun. Rāma, Lakshmana, Vibhishana, Sugreeva
and other vānaras were standing on the peak of the Suvela mountain in
Lankā to view the city and its fortifications. They spotted Rāvana standing
on the terrace of his palace, far away. Seeing him made Sugreeva so furious
that he leaped across to Rāvana’s terrace and challenged him to a duel. Both
began hitting each other. But before it got too ugly, Sugreeva exhausted
Rāvana and returned to Rāma.
Rāma was not too pleased with this reckless act of Sugreeva. ‘What you
have done is not befitting of kings. It was a rash act. Even though I have
full faith in your strength, if something untoward had happened to you, I
had made up my mind to finish the task in Lankā and give up my life.
Bharata can continue to rule Ayodhyā,’ admonished Rāma lovingly.33
Over the course of the war, the vānaras were very successful in taking
down many commanders of Rāvana. Some renowned rākshasas killed by
Sugreeva’s army have been included in the accompanying table.
Sugreeva
Praghasa
Kumbha (Kumbhakarna’s son)
Virupāksha (2)
Mahodar (2)
Angada
Vajradanta
Narāntaka
Kampan
Prajaghna
Mahapārshva
Hanumāna
Jambumāli
Dhumrarākshasa
Akampan
Devāntak
Trishirā
Nikumbha (Kumbhakarna’s son)
Neela Prahasta
Mahodar (1)
Nala
Pratapan
Dvivida
Ashniprabha
Shonitāksha
Sushena
Vidyunmāli
Maind
Vajramushthi
Yupāksha
Vibhishana
Shatrughna
Lakshmana
Virupāksha (1)
Atikāya
Indrajeet
Rāma
Agniketu
Rashmiketu
Suptaghna
Yajnakopa
Makarāksha
Kumbhakarna
Rāvana
Note: The list is not exhaustive. The numbers in brackets are used to
differentiate rākshasas with the same name.
Not only did the vānaras fight valiantly, but on occasions, they also saved
the lives of Rāma and Lakshmana. Twice during the war, the princes of
Ayodhyā were rendered unconscious, once by the nāgapāsh34 and then by
the Brahmāstra of Indrajeet. The first time, the princes were saved by the
divine intervention of a garuda35 who came unexpectedly and helped
relieve them of the snake poison. The second time, to respect the
Brahmāstra, Rāma strategically decided not to resist but accept it. That
helped because the weapon didn’t kill them but made them unconscious.
The way to recover from Brahmāstra induced unconsciousness was to
administer some medicinal herbs found in the Himālayas. Jāmbavana
informed where the medicines could be found and Sushena gave details of
the herbs to be brought. Hanumāna brought them all the way from
Himālayas—he couldn’t identify the plants, so he brought the entire boulder
itself—and Sushena administered the medicines, thus helping the princes of
Ayodhyā get back on their feet, ready to fight once again.
Life-Saving Herbs
Sushena instructed Hanumāna to get not one but four herbs36 for
administering to Rāma and Lakshmana; every herb had a specific
purpose. We can find a mention of these medications in Ayurveda as well,
though it is difficult to ascertain if the herbs are the same. The
medications mentioned by Sushena were:
✦ Vishalya karani: A herb that is applied on open wounds caused by
arrows to control bleeding. There is a herb called Ayapan in some Indian
languages which is used in the healing of such wounds. Its medicinal
name is Eupatorium triplinerve.37
✦ Sāvarnya karani: A herb that helps restore the colour of the skin
when a wound causes discolouration of the skin. There are many herbs
mentioned in Ayurveda texts that help restore skin colour. They are called
‘varnya’ herbs. ‘Varna’ means colour.38
✦ Sanjeeva karani: A herb that helps revive someone from a state of
unconsciousness or near death. Often called Mrita-Sanjeevani, this herb
has piqued the interest of researchers for long and there have been a lot of
efforts made to identify such a herb that has life restorative properties.
There have been a couple of herbs that have been zeroed down by
researchers that seem to match the properties of Sanjeevani.39
✦ Sandhāni: The word ‘sandhi’ means ‘to join’. Sandhāni is a herb or
herb extract that helps join broken bones. There have been several herbs
mentioned in Ayurveda, which help in the recovery of fractured bones.
Some of these are used even today.40
The war ended with the killing of Rāvana at the hands of Rāma. Rāma had
a reason to fight Rāvana as the rākshasa had abducted his wife. But the
vānaras had none. Even then, they did everything in their capacity to help
Rāma get Seetā back. So many vānaras risked their lives for Rāma. So
many died for Rāma.
And Rāma did whatever he could to ensure their happiness. After the
war, when Indra wished to grant a boon to Rāma, he requested that the dead
vānaras be brought back to life so that they could unite with their families.
Though a difficult ask, Indra resurrected the vānaras who had died fighting
Rāvana’s forces.41 Later, when Vibhishana wanted to give expensive gifts to
Rāma for crowning him the king of Lankā, Rāma refused anything for
himself. Instead, he requested Vibhishana to gift the vānaras with the jewels
and wealth. They deserved the gifts and gratifications rather than him, he
said.
After the war, the vānaras, along with Sugreeva and Vibhishana,
accompanied Rāma, Lakshmana and Seetā to Ayodhyā. They made a stop
in Vatsa desh to see Rishi Bharadwāja. The rishi wanted to grant a boon to
Rāma. This time, too, Rāma did not ask anything for himself but requested
that the trees and shrubs en route to Ayodhyā blossom with sweet fruits for
the sake of the vānaras.
Rāma, Seetā and Lakshmana had left Ayodhyā alone. But they came
back with friends like Sugreeva, Hanumāna, Angada, and Jāmbavana. What
began as a relationship of reciprocation soon became a bond of
brotherhood, strengthened by mutual respect, empathy and devotion.
The association of vānaras with Rāma had been brief but it was only
through their support that the itihāsa of Bhāratavarsha got charted. It was
through their efforts that Rāma could kill the formidable Rāvana and defeat
his huge forces, despite not having a sophisticated army.
Rishi Vālmiki tells us that the birth of the vānara warriors was meant to
help Rāma fulfil his task of establishing dharma and eliminating adharma in
the society, which had become a playground of Rāvana’s whims and
fancies. Rāma was the avatār of Vishnu. No one else could have taken
Rāvana head-on. The vānaras were no ordinary beings either. They were
incarnations of various devas who had taken birth on Brahma deva’s
commands to support Vishnu’s quest.
Neither Rāma nor Sugreeva knew beforehand that their paths were to
cross. With the benefit of hindsight and Rishi Vālmiki’s narration, we can
now claim that the kinship in Kishkindhā was pre-ordained. But isn’t that
true for life in general? When one is on the path of dharma, help comes
from unforeseen and unexpected sources. What we need is humility, some
patience and detachment to accept both joy and sorrow that life brings,
while continuing to do what we must. More often it is through sorrow that
the path of life is illuminated. We need to trust life to bring to us what we
need to remain steadfast on the path of dharma to realise the goal of our
life.
Sugreeva’s Atlas
Sugreeva had travelled the world multiple times over while trying to
escape from Vāli. That had made him an expert in world geography. His
knowledge is amply evident in the directions he gave to his troops which
went in the four directions to look for Seetā. The descriptions of regions,
places, people and details mentioned by Sugreeva have been the subject
of research for many itihāsa aficionados because there are many
resemblances to landmarks seen even today.
Among the many interesting descriptions, one is of Yawadwipa, which
is present-day Java in Indonesia. Interestingly, during my travels in
Indonesia, I found that people in Java still relate to this ancient
civilisational memory, considering themselves to be descendants of some
of Sugreeva’s men who stayed
back in Yawadwipa and did not return to Kishkindhā after the search
operation for Seetā concluded. The verse mentioned in Kishkindhā Kānda
regarding Yawadwipa is:
Sugreeva tells his troops going east that they will reach Yawadwipa—a land of gold,
silver, precious gems, a land with many gold mines, administered by seven kingdoms.42
To be noted here is that one of the kingdoms in the vicinity, the present-
day island of Sumatra, was called Suvarnadwipa in ancient times—the
island of gold. The region was known to be rich in gold and silver.
There are many such fascinating details reinforcing the fact that our
ancestors knew the world beyond Jambudwipa and knew it well.43
Ψ
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11
Vāyuputra
When Sugreeva heard that two young, warrior-like men with majestic
personalities, wielding huge bows were seen in the precincts of
Rishyamukha, he panicked and started pacing up and down. ‘These two
young men, dressed in barks, have been sent by Vāli to kill me deceitfully,’
he inferred. His ministers agreed. Together they began jumping from one
peak to another, nervously thinking about how to escape the two men.
Among Sugreeva’s ministers was Hanumāna. He was the only one
amidst the vānaras present there who did not panic. ‘Give up this agitation.
We have no fear of Vāli here,’ he said, addressing Sugreeva and added, ‘As
a king, you must not lose your wits because of Vāli. Think objectively
before arriving at any conclusion.’ Sugreeva had his reasons to fear the two
men. ‘Just look at them. Look at their broad shoulders and their strong
weapons. How will they not inspire fear? Vāli is very smart. He knows he
can’t come here to kill me. That is why he must have sent his friends to
perform the task for him. But you are right, we must first find out more
about these two,’ he replied and sent Hanumāna to get more information
about the two young men, ‘Take them in confidence by praising them,
enquire their reason for coming here, observe their body language and make
a careful assessment of their intention,’ he instructed.1
First Meeting, First Impressions
Hanumāna disguised himself as a sage and went to meet the princes. He
greeted them and enquired about them using laudatory words, ‘Are you
royal sages or avatār of some devatās? Why have you come here? Your
presence seems to embellish this bank of river Pampā. Your golden aura and
that look of courage are arousing fear in the hearts of the wild animals and
the forest dwellers here. Who are you two young men upsetting the beings
of the jungle with your arrival? Both of you seem valiant, powerful,
handsome and seem to have the focus of a lion. Your arms resemble the
trunks of an elephant. You are illumined by your own splendour. This
mountain has begun to appear resplendent as it reflects your aura. Both of
you deserve to rule kingdoms. Broad-chested and lion-shouldered, you are
worthy of being adorned by precious ornaments. But I see that you have
worn no jewellery. Who are you and why have you come here?’ Hanumāna
kept showering praises on Rāma and Lakshmana, hoping they would be
flattered and say something in reply.2
But the princes of Ayodhyā looked on intently at Hanumāna without
saying anything. ‘I have been speaking to you, why don’t you respond?’
asked Hanumāna finally, after failing to extract any answer from the two.
But the princes still didn’t say a word. Hanumāna figured these were no
ordinary men. He changed his tactics and decided to introduce himself
honestly upfront and watch their expression. ‘There is a vānara chief,
Sugreeva by name; he is a virtuous man. I am Hanumāna, his minister. I
have been sent here by Sugreeva. He desires friendship with you.’ After
this, Hanumāna stood there saying nothing. He had made his offer. The ball
was now in the court of these two young men.3
Rāma hadn’t said a word until then. While Hanumāna spoke, Rāma had
keenly observed him—his words, his body language and his mannerisms.
Rāma was both pleased and impressed. He was pleased to know that the
person they had come looking for, Sugreeva, had himself approached them
through his minister, Hanumāna. He was impressed with the wit, erudition,
articulation and intelligence of Hanumāna. Sharing his observations in
detail with Lakshmana, Rāma concluded with a smile, ‘One who has people
with Hanumāna’s qualities as his envoy and minister, will surely have all
his tasks accomplished.’ Taking this as Rāma’s approval, Lakshmana
responded to Hanumāna, ‘We are aware of the virtues of Sugreeva. We have
come all the way to meet him. Your proposal is acceptable to us.’
Hanumāna was delighted to hear this. He took Rāma and Lakshmana to
meet Sugreeva and the other vānaras.4
Rāma and Sugreeva opened their hearts to each other spontaneously.
Each agreed to help the other. The first step of their friendship was to
punish Vāli and crown Sugreeva as the king of the vānaras, which Rāma
accomplished successfully. The next was to look for Seetā. The arrival of
the monsoon delayed this task. Meanwhile, giving in to sensual pleasures,
Sugreeva lost track of time. It was Hanumāna who reminded him of his
promise to Rāma and his duty towards fulfilling it. That Sugreeva didn’t
mind being told bluntly about his lapse is a testimony to both his own
humility and the trust he put in Hanumāna’s discretion.
That Hanumāna was not an ordinary person was clear to Rāma in that first
meeting itself. Some of Rāma’s impressions of Hanumāna which he
shared with Lakshmana were:5
No one who is not learned in Rigveda, Yajurveda and Samaveda can
speak like how Hanumāna had spoken.
His speech was concise, clear, without delay, without tremor and was
spoken in a medium tone.
He spoke so much, but not one word was amiss. He sounded like one
who is well learned in vyakarana (grammar).
His speech was refined and coherent. He spoke words that were
auspicious and pleasing to the heart.
There was no flaw noticeable on his face or eyes or his forehead or
anywhere else.
He is so well spoken that his words will enchant even an enemy who is
ready to attack him with his sword raised.
From Rāma’s observations, it is amply clear that Hanumāna was
extremely erudite and well-spoken. Not only were his words timely and
contextual, but his tone was also pleasant to the listener and his speech
was sophisticated as that of a pandit who had mastered the vyakarana and
the Vedas.
The Angada Dilemma
Tārā was devastated when she was informed of Vāli’s death at the hands of
Rāma. She was ready to give up her own life after his. Hanumāna consoled
her and reminded her of her motherly responsibilities towards her only son,
Angada. Eventually, she reconciled to the situation and even accepted
Sugreeva as her husband for the sake of her son.
Vāli had only one worry on his death bed—the well-being of his and
Tārā’s son, Angada. Angada was in many ways like Vāli in strength and
acumen. He also had his mother’s wisdom. Vāli advised Angada to obey his
Uncle Sugreeva, never to align with his enemies, to remain loyal to him and
to follow his orders. It was wise advice. Having witnessed Rāma’s feat in
felling Vāli with just one arrow, the vānaras were in awe of Rāma. If Rāma
backed Sugreeva, the vānaras would follow suit and align behind Sugreeva
also. Vāli understood that well. He realised that it was in Angada’s interest
to seek refuge in Rāma and stay in Sugreeva’s good books.
Sugreeva didn’t seem to harbour any ill-will against Angada either. To
show his commitment towards Angada, he accepted Rāma’s suggestion and
made Angada the crown prince of Kishkindhā. Angada too had taken his
father’s advice seriously. He had shown no anger or bitterness overtly in
front of Sugreeva or others, until one day….
Sugreeva had sent his best team towards the south to look for Seetā. The
team included Hanumāna, Neela, Nala and Jāmbavana. Angada was asked
to lead the team. A few days into the expedition, while trying to find water
to drink, the team lost their way in a cave known as Riksha. Here they met a
saintly woman called Swayamprabhā who protected the cave.
Swayamprabhā ensured the vānaras had a comfortable stay in the cave with
lots of fruits and drinks.
The vānaras lived in the cave and feasted for days together until one day
they realised that they had been in the cave for over a month.
Swayamprabhā helped them reach the northern shore of the sea. However,
the one-month time stipulated by Sugreeva had already passed, and the
vānaras remained clueless about Seetā’s existence as well as the location of
Lankā. As the vānaras stared at the wide expanse of the sea not knowing
what to do next, a sense of despair began to set over the team.
Being the leader of the team, Angada was especially stressed. He had
failed his uncle. Rather, he believed he had been set up for failure
intentionally. As a sense of helplessness engulfed him, he addressed his
team, declaring that he was going to fast unto death. ‘As you all can see, it
is already autumn. The time given to us by Sugreeva to find Seetā has
lapsed. Hence, it is better for us to fast unto death here than go back and
face punishment by Sugreeva. Sugreeva has been always harsh, and now he
is our king. There is no way he will forgive us if we return empty-handed.
In fact, when he learns that we haven’t found Seetā, he will kill us. Instead
of meeting undeserved death at Sugreeva’s hands, making our near and dear
ones suffer, giving up our lives by fasting here is a much better option.’
The wounds in Angada’s heart manifested in his words. As he now
believed his end was near, he didn’t hold back his emotions. ‘Sugreeva has
long held the desire to kill me and get me out of his way. My failure will
give him that opportunity. He didn’t confer upon me the position of crown
prince out of any goodwill. It was Rāma who got me coronated. Sugreeva
has always seen me as an enemy,’ he said.6
The other vānaras were upset hearing these words from Angada. In a
way, they feared Sugreeva too, so they agreed with Angada and expressed
the intent to fast unto death with him. Among them was a vānara named
Tār. He had another suggestion. ‘Why be so sad and die here unnecessarily?
We can go back and live in that Riksha cave. There is enough food for our
survival there. No one can harm us there, not Sugreeva, not Rāma,’ Tār
said. Angada liked the idea. The vānaras loved it. ‘We should leave
immediately, this will save our lives,’ they chorused in one voice.7
The turn of events made Hanumāna uncomfortable. The narrative of
Angada and the idea floated by Tār could have dangerous implications for
Sugreeva’s kingship and the unity of the vānaras. If not nipped in the bud,
the idea had the potential to instigate the vānaras to lay a siege on
Kishkindhā at a later point.
Hanumāna was aware that Angada had a very sharp intellect, with
eightfold cognitive abilities. He was a master of the four essential strengths
required of an administrator and had all the fourteen qualities expected of a
leader. He was full of valour and strength. His popularity and stature were
steadily on the rise, like the waxing moon of the bright fortnight. Angada
had great faith in Tār’s advice. Tār was an intelligent but shrewd vānara
who seemed to be provoking Angada to rebel. Hanumāna decided to create
a rift between Angada, Tār and the other vānaras who were supporting
them.
By way of some smart manoeuvring and cajoling, Hanumāna made
many of the other vānaras change their mind about deserting Sugreeva.
Once he had the majority on his side, Hanumāna decided to make Angada
aware of the consequences of any misadventure he may be envisaging. ‘You
are as capable and full of energy as your father on the battlefield. And you
have the potential to hold together vānaras and reign over them, just like
your father did. But you forget one thing. The vānaras tend to have very
wavering minds. They won’t be able to tolerate staying away from their kith
and kin for too long. When that happens, it will be impossible for you to get
them to obey you.’
He then added, ‘And while you may be able to get some vānaras on your
side, you will not be able to win over us—myself, Jāmbavana, Suhotra and
Neela— or convince us to leave Sugreeva, not by money, not by threats. Do
remember, Sugreeva is much stronger than you are. The one who is weak
cannot ever live peacefully by antagonising the stronger person. It is always
wise for the weaker side to patch up with one who is undoubtedly stronger.
And if you truly believe that you are going to be secure in that cave, then
you are gravely mistaken. Lakshmana’s arrows can cut through mountains.
You will not be able to escape his ire if you do not finish the task they have
assigned to you.’
Once the stern message was conveyed, Hanumāna toned down his
speech. To inspire trust and confidence in Angada towards Sugreeva,
Hanumāna added, ‘However, if you remain loyal to Sugreeva, you are sure
to succeed him to the throne of Kishkindhā. Sugreeva will himself give the
kingdom to you at the appropriate time. Your uncle is a man of virtue and
truth. He is genuinely fond of you and doesn’t harbour any resentment
towards you. He cannot and will not kill you. He also dearly cares for your
mother and tries to behave in a way that would please her. Neither does he
have any progeny apart from you. Therefore, hold no grudges and come to
him.’8
Angada understood the purport of Hanumāna’s counsel. But his own
belief of Sugreeva’s qualities wasn’t aligned with Hanumāna’s assessment.
For once, Angada gave vent to the reasons for his discontent before
Hanumāna: ‘I do not quite agree with all the virtues you mention about
Sugreeva. What kind of a virtuous man would close the mouth of a cave in
which his brother had gone to fight an opponent? How can a man who takes
on his elder brother’s wife as his own even while his elder brother is alive
be called virtuous?9 Sugreeva had even forgotten the promise he made to
Rāma, the very person because of whom he got the kingdom of Kishkindhā.
A person who forgets the favours done to him; how can he be trusted?
Sugreeva hasn’t undertaken this mission for Seetā’s search out of any
concern for righteousness. He has sent us on this expedition fearing the
sharp arrows of Lakshmana. How can an ungrateful and vicious person like
him ever accept me as his son?’
Saying this, Angada’s voice was overcome with sadness. He continued,
‘I had secretly planned to live away from Sugreeva. But now that has been
exposed.
I am already guilty for not being able to find Seetā and now with you all
against me, I have become weak and vulnerable like an orphan. In such a
situation, I will certainly be killed if I go back to Kishkindhā. Or there is a
possibility that Sugreeva may even imprison me for life. Rather than live
life in painful imprisonment, I am better off fasting unto death right here by
the coast. I request you all to return and leave me alone here. Please do take
care of my dear mother. She will be devastated hearing about my death.’10
The other vānaras began to shed tears hearing the sad words of Angada.
They decided to follow his lead and fast unto death with him. Hanumāna
didn’t oppose them. His quick thinking and vision had averted a major
crisis in the Kishkindhā’s royal household by stopping the rebel group from
going to live in the cave. Angada’s concerns, even though misplaced, were,
in a way, understandable. Hanumāna let Angada grieve, to allow time to
take its course. Sometimes it is important to vent and grieve. Reconciliation
can happen only after acceptance of reality.
Time did show the way. It was here by the coast that they met Sampāti,
Jatāyu’s elder brother, who informed them about Seetā in Lankā, an island
situated a hundred yojanas towards the south, across the ocean.
A Leader’s Qualities
The eightfold cognitive abilities, four tactics and fourteen leadership
qualities that Hanumāna acknowledges in Angada are:11
A. Eight aspects of cognitive abilities:
12
✦ —desire to hear attentively
✦ —act of listening
✦ —grasping or receptiveness
✦ —retentiveness
✦ —deliberation
✦ —removal of doubt
✦ —comprehension of meaning
✦ —thorough knowledge, both physical as well as metaphysical
B. The fourteen qualities expected in a leader:
✦ —understanding of place and time
✦ —firmness or resoluteness
✦ —endurance for all kinds of troubles
✦ —all-round understanding
✦ —skill in implementation
✦ —vigour
✦ —maintaining confidentiality
✦ —free of contradictions
✦ —courage
✦ —recognising strengths and weaknesses of self and opponents
✦ —gratitude
✦ —compassion to those who seek refuge
✦ —rightful anger
✦ —steadfast, not fickle-minded
C. The four tactics/strengths (different sources mention these in two
different sets):
✦ —convince through persuasion
✦ 13—convince by exploiting a need or greed
✦ —convince by (threat of) punishment
✦ —convince by sowing dissension (strategy of divide and rule)
Or
✦ —physical strength
✦ —mental strength
✦ —strength of resources and strategy
✦ —strength of alliances or partnerships
The Leap to Lankā
Sampāti’s information elated the vānaras. There was a possibility now that
they could go back to Kishkindhā without fearing Sugreeva’s fury. But how
were they to cross a hundred yojanas over the sea? Once again, the vānaras
were despondent. The new information had raised Angada’s spirits too. He
stepped in to cheer up his people. ‘Do not give in to despair. Dejection
destroys vigour just like a snake that bites a child who goes near it. This is
the time to show your valour. A dispirited man cannot achieve success,’ he
said. Trying to jolt his people into action, he asked every vānara how far he
could leap and stay afloat. But except Angada, no one had the potential to
cross a hundred yojanas and come back.
Angada, being the leader, couldn’t be sent. ‘Without a leader, the team
would be lost. Hence, to keep the team together and engaged, the leader
must be protected,’ said Jāmbavana while assuring Angada that there was
one other person who was intelligent and powerful enough to accomplish
the task.
Hanumāna had kept quiet all this while. Addressing him, Jāmbavana
said, ‘Why are you sitting here without saying anything, Hanumāna? You
are equal to Sugreeva in valour, and in wisdom, you are comparable to
Rāma and Lakshmana. You outshine everyone in strength, intelligence,
vitality and strength of character.14 Why aren’t you taking up this task?’
Hanumāna looked unsure.
Jāmbavana then said, ‘You possibly are not aware of your own potential.
Let me remind you of an incident from your childhood. While your father is
Kesari, being the husband of your mother, your biological father is Vāyu
deva. Once, enamoured by your mother’s beauty, Vāyu deva approached
her. He promised your mother that the son born through their union would
be as strong, agile, resplendent and capable of leaping across long
distances, like his own self. That is why she agreed to have you.’
Jāmbavana continued: ‘One day, when you were still a child, you saw
the sun rising in the sky. Thinking that it was a large, yellow fruit, you
leaped almost three hundred yojanas towards the sky to pluck
the sun. It was some feat. We were all flabbergasted. After going high up in
the sky, you fell on a mountain peak and fractured your jaw. Since then, you
have been called Hanumāna.15 Being the son of Vāyu deva, you are
equivalent to him in strength, speed and energy. Therefore, get up, leap to
Lankā and cross the ocean. Don’t you see how dejected all the vānaras are?
Why are you ignoring them? Stand up and take the stride.’16
Jāmbavana’s words had a deep impact on Hanumāna. A new life and a
new vision appeared to sprout in him. His confidence soared as if a hidden
valve of infinite potential had been unlocked in his mind. With the
realisation of his strengths came their physical manifestation. To everyone’s
amazement, Hanumāna began stretching and expanding his body till he
became gigantic. He slipped into a state of trance and began speaking to the
vānaras assembled there who were watching this miracle unfold, ‘Vāyu
deva is infinite in strength and moves with infinite speed. He can break the
biggest mountains and uproot the largest trees if he wishes. I am the son of
that Vāyu deva. Like him, I can leap and stay afloat across long distances.
As I leap across, I will raise the water from the oceans with my strong arms
and bathe the entire earth, along with the mountains, forests and plains.
With the force of my thighs and calves, as I push up the ocean water, huge
alligators living in it would be thrown up to the earth.’
Hanumāna’s assertions energised the entire group. Jāmbavana blessed
him and others wished him success as he got ready to take the leap to
Lankā.
The journey to Lankā was not all smooth. A few yojanas over the sea,
Hanumāna’s flight was obstructed by Surasā, the mother of the nāgas,
disguised as a demoness. The devas had requested Surasā to test
Hanumāna’s grit and wit, it is said. Surasā insisted that Hanumāna was her
god-ordained food and wouldn’t let him go. Hanumāna tried to convince
her about the urgency of his task. Surasā intended to test him, hence she
said, ‘I have a boon that one who comes in my area cannot go ahead
without entering my mouth. You will have to do that—you have no choice.’
Hanumāna agreed. He expanded his body, making Surasā expand her
mouth too so that he could enter. Suddenly, Hanumāna shrank his body and
became tiny. He quickly entered Surasā’s mouth and came out before she
could close her wide-open mouth. Thus, Hanumāna outwitted the devas and
continued to proceed to Lankā.17
Next, Hanumāna got pulled into the mouth of a vortex.18 This wasn’t as
benign as the previous encounter with Surasā. Sugreeva had warned him of
this phenomenon in the southern ocean. But Hanumāna wasn’t daunted. He
was full of his newfound energy and determined to get to Lankā. Exploding
the vortex with his momentum, he forced his way out. While there were
several more challenges, there was also help that came unexpectedly. A
huge mountain called Mainak emerged out of the ocean only to allow
Hanumāna to take some respite on its peak. Hanumāna was grateful for
Mainak’s thoughtful gesture but politely declined to take a break as he
could not afford to lose any more time.19
Finally, Hanumāna landed in Lankā, crossing a hundred yojanas over the
ocean.
Sometimes all a person needs is a mentor who can remind him of his dormant
potential and jolt him to action.
Hanumāna set his foot on the shores of Lankā and took in its grandeur. The
city was perched on a mountain top and was protected on four sides by
huge walls guarded by giant rākshasas. Seeing its fortifications, both natural
—due to its location, surrounded by ocean—and man-made—security
arrangements done by Rāvana—his heart sank. ‘How will the other vānaras,
Rāma and Lakshmana get here? Except for Sugreeva, Angada, Neela and I,
no one has the capability to leap across the ocean. And even if Rāma
manages to get here somehow, how will we capture the city? It looks
invincible. If its prosperity and military strength are real, then even the
policy of sāma, dāna, danda and bheda will be of no use.’ Then he stopped
himself, ‘This is not the time for negativity. My task is to figure out whether
Seetā is alive or dead. All other considerations can wait.’
He took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. ‘With this size
and body, I will raise an alarm. I must assume a tiny form that doesn’t catch
the eye of these powerful guards of Rāvana. I should wait for the sun to set
before entering the city. I will have to carry out the search for Seetā very
surreptitiously and only in the dark. Otherwise, if I am caught, Rāma’s
entire effort will be a colossal waste,’ he thought to himself.
When light gave way to darkness, Hanumāna entered the city. Keenly
observing its architecture, its fortification and its people, he jumped from
one building to another, peeping through doors and windows to see if he
could find a lady resembling Seetā. He had never seen Seetā except for the
fleeting glimpse he had when Rāvana was carrying her away. Hanumāna let
his intuition guide him. He then saw a majestic looking multi-storeyed
building. From its stature and build, it could only belong to the king or
someone very important. He became even more alert and careful as he
explored the various chambers of the palace.
The palace was Rāvana’s. Hanumāna was astonished upon seeing the
inside of the palace. It was elegant and sumptuous. It seemed to gratify
every one of the five senses of the resident. For a moment, Hanumāna went
into a state of reverie as his eyes fell on a line of golden lamps flickering
simultaneously, spreading a golden hue in the room. He observed that the
room was full of women. Possibly, these are the wives and mistresses of
Rāvana, he thought. It seemed like an evening of revelry had just
concluded. The women were all decked up in beautiful garments and
ornaments but looked drunk and tired. Some of them had passed out on the
floor, some others had bent over and fallen asleep on the musical
instruments which they had been playing. Some had their hands on the
bodies of other women sleeping next to them while some others used their
hands as pillows. Some had dozed off unaware of their dishevelled
garments.
Some of these women had been lustfully abducted by Rāvana, some had
given in to him out of their own greed. But now all of them seemed to
consider him as their master and were devoted to him, or so it appeared to
Hanumāna as he observed their faces and expressions. No woman looked as
if she was forcibly kept there against her wishes. ‘Seetā couldn’t be among
them,’ he concluded and continued his search.20 A little further inside the
room, he saw a platform on which stood a grand bed. On that, he saw a man
sleeping and women fanning him from all sides. His aura could be felt even
from a distance. He exuded grandeur and power even in his sleep. It could
only be Rāvana, inferred Hanumāna. A little further he saw another bed on
which slept a woman of divine beauty. Her face had an unmatched glow.
For a moment, Hanumāna thought he had found Seetā, but he dismissed
that thought, ‘How can Seetā sleep so peacefully and comfortably in
Rāvana’s chamber?’ From what he had heard of Seetā and judged from
Rāma’s love for her, she was completely committed to Rāma. It was
impossible for a woman like her to accept Rāvana. He was absolutely
correct. The woman sleeping on the bed was Mandodari, Rāvana’s chief
queen.21
Looking at these women fast asleep, Hanumāna was gripped by a sense
of guilt. ‘Isn’t watching someone’s women unrighteous? Am I engaging in a
sinful act?’ he questioned himself. ‘Never have I eyed other women in this
manner, sneaking into their private quarters.’ Another chain of thoughts
emerged in his mind as if his own brain was responding to his query. ‘While
I am definitely looking at Rāvana’s wives in this manner, I feel no lust nor
desire for them. That is not my intention either. This mind is the cause of
the activity of all sensual desires. But my mind isn’t affected by seeing
these women. It continues to remain steadfast in my goal. Moreover, this is
the only option I have. Where would I look for a woman if not among
women?’ he reasoned, shaking off the guilt.22
However, he failed to find Seetā in the city. He was beginning to lose
hope. ‘What if I don’t find Seetā at all? What if she is already dead? If I
don’t find her, my efforts will be completely futile. The vānaras are waiting
for me with a lot of expectations. How will I face them? We have already
crossed the stipulated time; how will I return to Sugreeva and tell him I
failed? How will Rāma react when he learns his beloved could not be
found? He will surely give up his life. Lakshmana would not survive
without Rāma. Kaushalyā would be devastated. Oh, what a tragedy that
would bring upon everyone. I think it will be better for me to fast unto
death or jump into a blazing pyre than go back to give such bad news,’
thought Hanumāna, his mind constructing scenarios of failure.23
Then Hanumāna made a conscious effort to slip out of all the negativity.
‘Depression discourages enterprise while enthusiasm and hope inspire
action, develop endurance and help to succeed. Hence, I will not give up
hope and continue to look for Seetā in places I haven’t explored yet,’
decided Hanumāna, determined to stabilise his distressed mind.24 An idea
struck him—he could himself kill Rāvana or abduct him and take him to
Kishkindhā for Rāma to punish. Once again, he pushed out such diverting
thoughts and focussed on his key task—to locate Seetā.25
His search took him to Ashokavātikā where he finally spotted Seetā and
witnessed a verbal tussle between Rāvana and Seetā. The king of Lankā
initially pleaded and then threatened Seetā to accept him and Seetā
consistently rejected his advances. Hanumāna was moved to see Seetā’s
dedication towards Rāma. He had already been a witness to Rāma’s longing
for Seetā. They were meant for each other, he was convinced. After Rāvana
had left, Hanumāna approached Seetā and had a long conversation with her.
He offered to take her back to Kishkindhā right then, to which Seetā did not
agree, with good reasons. Taking her message for Rāma and her chudāmani,
he bid Seetā goodbye after consoling her and assuring her that Rāma would
come soon to rescue her.
Hanumāna’s Eight Siddhis
Hanumāna is shown to expand and shrink in size at will in Vālmiki
Rāmāyana. He is the only one who has such extraordinary capabilities.
According to Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, through intense practise of yoga,
it is possible to achieve a state wherein one gains complete control over
the five senses and raises the consciousness to a level where one
transcends the five senses to seek inputs and inspirations from the
universe. The third chapter of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra, ‘Vibhuti Pada’, calls
such a state sanyama, which ignites intuitive wisdom in a yogi and grants
supra-natural powers called siddhis.
There are eight types of siddhis— (ashta siddhi)26—
generally spoken of which such a realised yogi achieves at will. These
are:
|
||
✦ —ability to reduce one’s physical body
✦ —ability to expanding one’s body
✦ —ability to reduce one’s weight and become weightless
✦ —ability to become infinitely heavy or dense
✦ —ability to travel anywhere instantaneously
✦ —ability to fulfil any desire
✦ —ability to control one’s will and nature
✦ —ability to control the minds of others
✦ Hanumāna possesses all the eight siddhis. Goswāmi Tulsidās refers to Hanumāna as ‘
, —one who grants eight siddhis and nine treasures’—implying
Hanumāna is the master of the eight siddhis and nine nidhis and grants them to anyone he
wants. A person wanting to acquire them would need to pray to Hanumāna with the right intent
and a clean heart.
Encounter with Rāvana
By confirming Seetā’s whereabouts, Hanumāna had achieved the task
assigned to him. But Hanumāna was not just a minor follower who would
do only as much as he was told. He was a man of wisdom. There was a
reason he was called buddhimatām varishtham—the greatest among those
with intelligence. As he bid farewell to Seetā, his mind fired up. ‘I have
done the work assigned to me but the overall purpose of getting Seetā back
is yet to be accomplished. I can claim to complete the task only if I can
return to give Sugreeva a good assessment of the strength and size of
Rāvana’s army and commanders. That will allow us to compare our
strengths and weaknesses versus Rāvana’s and help to decide our plan of
action,’ he reasoned. The possibility of a war with Rāvana was very real.
The information about Lankā’s war preparedness would come in handy in
the war.
Besides, Hanumāna had a keen desire to meet Rāvana face-to-face
before heading back. An idea struck him, one that would allow him to meet
Rāvana, gauge the strength of his forces and give the people of Lankā a
peek into his own powers.27 ‘This garden around here is beautiful and
attractive. If I ravage the garden, Rāvana will become furious. He will come
along with his army to capture me. There is no way he can defeat me in a
confrontation. I will destroy his army and give him a taste of my powers
before returning to Kishkindhā,’ he thought.
Hanumāna began uprooting the trees and shrubs, crushing the hillocks
and destroying the water ponds. In no time, he lay waste to the entire
garden. The birds and animals began to make terrified noises. Their
screams, coupled with the breaking of trees and crushing of boulders,
created a huge commotion, alerting the guards. They came running to see
who the culprit was. Hanumāna intended to alert the rākshasas and scare
them. When they came near, he expanded his body, assuming a mammoth
form.
The rākshasa women guarding Seetā were startled to see such a massive
creature. They remembered seeing something similar-looking but smaller,
talking to Seetā, and asked her about him. Seetā feigned ignorance. She did
not wish to endanger Hanumāna. ‘How am I to know him? I have never
seen him before. I was also scared when I saw him today. To me, he
appeared like a powerful rākshasa,’ she said. The guards rushed to inform
Rāvana about the ravaging of his garden by a weird-looking, gigantic
vānara. ‘Possibly, he is sent by Indra or Kuber or Rāma,’ they speculated.
Rāvana was obviously angry. He sent a division of his army to imprison the
offender.
As Rāvana’s soldiers attempted to corner Hanumāna and catch him, the
son of Vāyu roared loudly, ‘Victory be to Rāma and Lakshmana. Victory be
to Sugreeva. I am the son of Vāyu deva and the servant of Rāma. I am
Hanumāna, the nemesis of my enemies. Having ravaged Lankā, see how I
escape from here.’ His declaration was loud and clear. It was done with the
obvious intent of disclosing his identity to Rāvana. It was important to
disturb the self-assumed notion of invincibility of the king of Lankā.
Hanumāna was more than a match for the soldiers who had come to
capture him. They all died at his hands. Before Rāvana could send another
battalion, Hanumāna rampaged and set on fire the sacred area of worship of
Lankā. With the instructions to capture or kill Hanumāna, Rāvana sent
many of his trusted commanders, along with their armies. One by one all of
them succumbed to Hanumāna’s offensive. Rāvana couldn’t deny that the
vānara was extraordinary. ‘I have met powerful vānaras such as Vāli and
Sugreeva earlier. But no one has been as forceful, smart and splendid as this
one. It appears to me that one of my enemies has unleashed this creature to
destroy Lankā. He cannot be a forest-dwelling vānara. Do not
underestimate his might and capture him as soon as possible,’ he ordered.28
In the skirmish that followed, among other rākshasas, Rāvana’s son
Aksha was also killed by Hanumāna. Shocked at the news of his son’s
death, Rāvana sent his most celebrated and intrepid commander, his son
Indrajeet, to attack Hanumāna. A gruelling combat ensued. Finally,
Indrajeet used the powerful and divine weapon given to him by Brahma
deva. The weapon had the power to tie down the opponent. Hanumāna was
aware that the weapon would do nothing to him as he was blessed by
Brahma deva. But to show his reverence to Brahma deva, he let himself be
entangled by the weapon. The other reason was his desire to meet Rāvana
face-to-face. ‘If I am captured alive, Indrajeet will take me to the royal
court of Lankā where I can speak to Rāvana directly,’ he thought to himself.
His assumption was correct. Indrajeet indeed took Hanumāna to Rāvana’s
court.29
As Hanumāna was dragged to the assembly hall, he looked around and
saw the pomp of Rāvana’s court. He had seen Rāvana thrice earlier—the
first time he had only caught a glimpse of his in Rishyamukha when they
had spotted a rākshasa carrying away Seetā, not knowing then that the
rākshasa was Rāvana or that the lady was Seetā; the second time was the
previous night when Rāvana was asleep in his chambers, surrounded by
women; and then again, a few hours later in Ashokavātikā, when Rāvana
was still groggy from the revelry of the previous night.
In the court, Hanumāna saw Rāvana in his full glory. Dressed in silken
clothes, bedecked in jewel-studded gold ornaments, Rāvana’s might shone
through his personality. The king of rākshasas emanated an aura of
opulence and brilliance. Hanumāna observed him, enraptured. ‘If only
Rāvana’s adharma wasn’t so potent, he could have enjoyed the lordship of
this world and even the world of devas,’ he thought sadly.30
Rāvana was startled seeing Hanumāna. ‘Can this creature be Nandi, the
attendant of Shiva who had cursed me once earlier at Kailāsh? Or is he the
mighty demon Bānāsura?’ he wondered. At the same time, he was furious.
Standing before him was the man who had killed his son Aksha. He ordered
Prahasta, his minister, to enquire from Hanumāna about his identity and
purpose for coming to Lankā. Prahasta obeyed and asked, rather politely in
the beginning, ‘Don’t be afraid. Let us know who you are honestly. If you
inform us who sent you here, you will be set free. Tell us, has Indra sent
you here, or has Kuber? Is Yama your master or have you come on behalf
of Vishnu, who always desires victory over us? We don’t believe you are a
vānara. Even though your form is like them, your power transcends theirs.
Tell us everything truthfully if you seek freedom.’
Hanumāna was waiting for this opportunity. ‘I have not been sent by
Indra, nor by Kuber, nor by Vishnu. I am indeed a vānara born in the vānara
tribe and have come here to meet the king of the rākshasas. I ravaged the
garden hoping to get the opportunity to see him in person. Your rākshasas
attacked me and I had to kill them in self-defence. Frankly, no weapon is
powerful enough to tie me down. I let myself be tied only because I wanted
to be brought before Rāvana. I have come to Lankā as an emissary of
Sugreeva, for the cause of Rāma. Knowing this, I request you to give me a
chance to convey to you the message from Sugreeva,’ he said.31
Hanumāna proceeded to narrate the story of Rāma, Lakshmana and
Seetā in the court of Lankā. He spoke about their exile, Seetā’s abduction,
the friendship of Rāma and Sugreeva and their commitment to helping each
other. To ensure Rāvana understood whom he had chosen to antagonise,
Hanumāna reminded him of Vāli, the mighty vānara by whom Rāvana had
been subjugated years ago. ‘Sugreeva promised Rāma to help locate Seetā
and Rāma promised to win back the kingdom of vānaras for Sugreeva. To
fulfil his promise, Rāma killed Vāli and established Sugreeva on the throne
of Kishkindhā. You knew Vāli, didn’t you? Rāma killed him with just one
arrow.’
Informing Rāvana about Sugreeva’s search expedition for Seetā and his
own feat of crossing a hundred yojanas of the ocean to reach Lankā,
Hanumāna advised him to let Seetā go free and not seek to enrage Rāma
further for his own good and for the good of his people. ‘I have done my
job by locating Seetā. The future course will be charted by Rāma. I have
met Seetā and taken note of her grief. There is no way you can ever have
her. You have accumulated a lot of luxury and success due to your good
deeds in the past. But it seems the good deeds have run their course and it is
time for you to bear the fruits of your adharma. Do remember, Rāma and
Sugreeva are neither gods nor demons. They are human beings. The boon
conferred by Brahma deva on you doesn’t protect you from them.’32
Rāvana was enraged even more by Hanumāna’s audacity and ordered his
soldiers to kill him. Vibhishana intervened, ‘Hanumāna has declared
himself to be an emissary, hence it is not appropriate to kill him. Such an
act is not undertaken by learned men. Do not act in haste and anger,
reconsider your decision.’
‘But he is an enemy who destroyed our garden and killed our men. It is
not inappropriate to kill an enemy,’ protested Rāvana.
‘No question about his being an enemy, that he surely is. But he is also a
messenger. You must not do what is not ordained by the scriptures. You
must not kill him. However, you can punish him. There are many options
suggested for punishing a messenger like injuring one of his body parts,
shaving his hair or whipping him. There is little to gain by killing this
vānara. He is bound by his masters. Those who really deserve death are his
masters and that can happen only if you fight a war with them. With him
dead, there is no way you will get a chance to fight and punish those who
have sent him here,’ said Vibhishana, trying to coax the king of Lankā into
changing his mind.33
The idea appealed to Rāvana. He ordered his men to set Hanumāna’s
tail34 on fire and parade him around in Lankā. The soldiers obeyed
enthusiastically. They tied Hanumāna tightly with ropes once again, set fire
to his tail and began to drag him around the lanes of Lankā. Hanumāna’s
brain was fast at work. ‘While I can escape from here without much effort,
how can I turn this situation into an opportunity to collect information on
Lankā and wreck more havoc before leaving? I have only seen Lankā at
night, now I have a chance to see it during the day. Let me utilise the
opportunity.’ Thinking thus, he let the soldiers parade him around for some
time, as the citizens of Lankā came to gape at the enemy of their state.
When they were close to the city entrance, Hanumāna swiftly broke his
bondages and jumped high, to settle on the tall entry gate.35
He expanded his body to acquire his colossal form once again and began
leaping from building to building, setting them on fire with his burning tail.
In no time a large part of Lankā was up in flames. The whole city was in
chaos, with people running helter-skelter, trying to save themselves. The
only major building he left unburnt was Vibhishana’s palace. Hanumāna
then leaped into the waters of the ocean to douse his burning tail. He was
about to leave when he remembered Seetā. Was Seetā safe or had the fire
engulfed her too, he wondered, panic-stricken. He returned to Ashokavātikā
to check and heaved a sigh of relief on seeing Seetā untouched by fire.
Bidding her farewell one last time, Hanumāna leapt off to return to the
northern shore of the island, having successfully accomplished the
assignment entrusted to him.36
Did the fire not have any impact on Hanumāna? Hanumāna had the same
question. ‘How is it that the fire feels to me as cold as the snow,’ he
wondered.37 Rishi Vālmiki tells us that multiple things worked to protect
Hanumāna from the pain of the burns.
✦ When the rākshasa women informed Seetā about Hanumāna’s tail being set on fire, she
immediately began meditating on Agni deva, requesting him to be cool towards Hanumāna,
using the power of her chastity and her tapasyā.38
✦ Vāyu deva being his biological father blew in a way that cooled the fire.
Hanumāna attributes the miracle to Seetā’s kindness, his father’s favour
and Rāma’s grace. He was there to accomplish a noble task, not for
himself but for Rāma.39
There was one other factor, possibly the most potent. When his tail was
being set on fire, Hanumāna did not cower; rather he told himself,
‘ —Let the
rākshasa torture me as they please, there is no anguish in my mind.’40
It was this willpower of Hanumāna coupled with, rather due to, his
yogic siddhis—the ashta siddhis—that helped him bear the pain of the
burns without any overt manifestation. Yogis are known to live in extreme
conditions without any pain, where an ordinary human being would
struggle to survive. Such mental strength, along with grace and noble
wishes, is an enduring combination.
Hanumāna’s successful return infused energy and enthusiasm in his team.
Angada wanted to attack Lankā and free Seetā right away, without returning
to Kishkindhā. Jāmbavana advised against it. ‘It is important to know what
Rāma has in mind before we venture to do anything else at this moment,’ he
advised. The team returned to Kishkindhā.
‘I have met Seetā. Pining for you every moment and observing intense
vows, she awaits in Lankā,’ said Hanumāna bowing to Rāma. Everyone
was overjoyed. Sugreeva’s confidence in Hanumāna’s abilities had been
vindicated once again. Rāma looked at Hanumāna with enhanced respect.41
‘I see no one on this earth except you who could have achieved this feat. No
one else could have even imagined doing it. You have immensely gratified
Sugreeva and protected my family’s dharma. I have nothing valuable to gift
you right now. All I have to offer is my heartfelt embrace,’ Rāma lauded
Hanumāna, giving him a tight, affectionate hug.42
As the group began to prepare for their journey to Lankā and the impending
war, Rāma asked Hanumāna detailed questions about the fortification of the
city. Hanumāna had all the answers. He had made the effort to collect the
information through his adventures in Lankā—some adventures he had
initiated, some had come his way as troubles which he turned into
opportunities. Hanumāna’s clarity of thought and goal-oriented focus were
unparalleled.
Soon the war started. Lankā had already witnessed what a remarkable
warrior Hanumāna was. His performance in the war was no different. He
killed many formidable commanders of Rāvana. He was instrumental in
bringing Rāma and Lakshmana to consciousness on two occasions by
bringing a boulder of medicinal herbs from the Himālayas. The first was
when the two were hit by Indrajeet’s Brahmāstra. And second, when in a
combat with Rāvana, Lakshmana had fainted.
Then again, during Rāma’s first face-off with Rāvana, Hanumāna lifted
Rāma on his shoulders to give him some elevation to fight as Rāvana was
fighting from a chariot. He did the same with Lakshmana during the latter’s
encounter with Indrajeet.
Hanumāna met Rāma much later in life, only in their thirteenth year of
vanvās. He quickly became Rāma’s trusted lieutenant because of his
qualities and trustworthiness. There is not a single instance in the
Rāmāyana where an assignment given to Hanumāna was not done—or not
done well. For any task that needed courage or strength or sensitive
handling, Hanumāna became Rāma’s obvious choice, as is evident from the
following episode:
Finally, the war ended. Rāma, Seetā and Lakshmana were all set to
return to Ayodhyā but there was one task pending that Rāma needed to get
done. When the Pushpak landed in Rishi Bharadwāja’s āshram, Rāma
called Hanumāna and asked him to go and inform Bharata of their arrival
and narrate to him the incidents of Dandakāranya and Lankā. But informing
was not the real reason; Rāma had something else in mind.
‘Observe Bharata’s expressions keenly as he hears the news from you,
study his body language and his eyes. Figure out how he feels about me and
my return,’ Rāma explained the importance of the task to Hanumāna.
‘Having acquired the kingdom of one’s ancestors replete with food, wealth
and prosperity, any person’s mind will be tempted to retain it for himself. If
it appears to you that Bharata desires to rule the kingdom of Ikshvākus all
by himself, then so be it. I will give up my claim on the kingdom. May he
rule the earth as he pleases.’43
But Bharata hadn’t changed his mind. He was genuinely and eagerly
waiting for Rāma to return. Nonetheless, the event shows how much Rāma
trusted Hanumāna. This was a very personal but important task. The
smallest error could ruin the relations between the brothers forever. Such
work could be entrusted only to someone intelligent, perceptive, empathetic
and loyal. There were many with Rāma who were loyal but none as
intelligent and perceptive as the son of Vāyu.
Rishi Vālmiki tells us that there are four qualities important for success
in life:
✦ —strong willpower that keeps one firm in one’s resolve
✦ —vision or wisdom to see long term consequences
✦ —intellect for objective reasoning
✦ —skill/capability in implementation
Hanumāna had all the four qualities,44 coupled with a sense of devotion and
responsibility towards his people, be it Sugreeva or be it Rāma. He never
shied away from giving the right advice to Sugreeva or reminding Sugreeva
of his duties when needed. Sugreeva knew Hanumāna’s worth and took his
advice seriously.
Rāma assessed Hanumāna perfectly in their first meeting itself. He told
Lakshmana, ‘One who has a person like Hanumāna working for him, all his
tasks are bound to succeed.’ Hanumāna always lived up to his reputation.
In popular narrations and depictions, Hanumāna is always shown carrying
a gadā or a mace. But Vālmiki Rāmāyana has no mention of him carrying
any mace. No vānara is shown to carry a mace or any other weapon for
that matter. In the war too, they fight with their hands using their sheer
might or use tree trunks and boulders as weapons.
Ψ
OceanofPDF.com
12
The Trap of Lust
Rāvana was born to Rishi Vishrava and Kaikasi. Kuber was his elder
stepbrother. Kuber was an ideal son and a great leader. He turned around the
fortunes of Lankā, transforming a deserted land into a bustling and
prosperous city that came to be known as the golden city. Kaikasi was very
fond of her stepson Kuber. She wanted her own children to follow his lead.
Rāvana took his mother’s prodding as a challenge and resolved to acquire
immense strength. He did intense tapasyā, pleased Brahma deva and got a
boon of near immortality—no one could kill him except humans. When
devas, dānavas, gandharvas couldn’t kill him, what chance did mortal
humans have?
Rāvana was intelligent, powerful and had tremendous vitality. Even then,
instead of establishing another city like Lankā through hard work and
intelligence, he chose the easier way out—usurping Lankā from Kuber.
Kuber handed over Lankā to Rāvana without a fight on his father’s advice
and established his residence in Kailāsh.
Having taken over the reins of Lankā, Rāvana went on a journey to
prove his supremacy over other kings in Bhāratavarsha. He subjugated
innumerable kings. Some like Vāli and Arjun, the king of Māhishmati,
overpowered him. King Arjun not only defeated Rāvana but also
imprisoned him. Arjun freed him only because Rishi Pulastya, Rāvana’s
grandfather, personally intervened. But Rāvana was smart. Whenever he
lost, he immediately extended a hand of friendship and patched up with the
king. When he won, he left a trail of destruction.1
As his power consolidated, he increasingly became an insufferable
tyrant. Many rishis and innocent people fell prey to his reign of terror.
Kuber tried to drill sense into him by sending a word of caution about his
adharmic and oppressive ways through his messenger. In response, a power-
drunk Rāvana attacked his brother in Kailāsh and took away his Pushpak.
While on one hand, Rāvana broke every edict of dharma, on the other hand,
he also conducted many yajnas and gave charity generously. His own
people were, therefore, happy with him.2
To be able to wield unbounded power, a person needs colossal strength
and a powerful personality. Rāvana possessed both in ample amounts,
without a doubt. No wonder Hanumāna was awestruck when he saw
Rāvana in his full glory in his court at Lankā. Hanumāna’s immediate
reaction was one of wonder as well as regret.
:
Oh, what beauty, what daring, what vigour, what splendour, what
amazing traits this king of rākshasas is endowed with! If only his
adharma was not so huge, he would have become the protector of
all the worlds including of deities like Indra.3
Dashagreeva Becomes Rāvana
When Hanumāna was captured and brought to his court, Rāvana wondered
if the person in front of him was Nandi, Shiva’s attendant. There was a
good reason for this doubt. In the past, when Rāvana was roaming in and
around Kailāsh after having defeated Kuber, he had an interesting run-in
with Nandi that eventually got him the name the world was going to
remember him with.4
Rāvana wasn’t always known as Rāvana. He was born Dashagreeva.
Exhilarated by the victory against Kuber, Dashagreeva and his men
began roaming in the beautiful jungles and peaks of the Kailāsh in his
newly acquired Pushpak vimān. Suddenly, on reaching a particular spot, the
vimān halted and wouldn’t move further. Dashagreeva got off the vimān to
look around, trying to understand the problem. A stout, short, dark and not-
so-pleasant looking being came by and stopped next to him. ‘You are
forbidden from entering this space. It is the kridāsthala—playground—of
Bhagvān Shankar. No one is allowed here,’ he proclaimed. This being was
Nandi.
Dashagreeva was red with rage. He asked arrogantly, ‘ —
Shankar, who?’ Shrugging off the warning, he proceeded towards the
mountain. Nandi tried to stop him once again. This time the king of Lankā
not only disregarded him but also made fun of his vānara-like looks.
Infuriated, Nandi pronounced a curse on him, ‘As you have laughed at me
scornfully because I resemble a vānara, there will be born extremely
powerful vānaras who will be responsible for crushing your arrogance, rest
assured.’ It was this curse that Rāvana was reminded of on seeing
Hanumāna in his court.
At that time, however, Dashagreeva did not give any thought to Nandi’s
words and carried on his foolish talk. ‘By what authority does Shankar
enjoy this place? Does he not know that great fear befalls him (through
me)? Wait and watch how I uproot this mountain of yours that dared to halt
my vimān.’ Saying so, the king of Lankā haughtily put his hands beneath
the mighty Kailāsh and attempted to lift and displace it.
Bhagvān Shankar, who was witnessing all this, simply smiled. He
playfully pressed his toe just a little bit harder on the ground. The weight of
Shiva’s toe crushed Dashagreeva’s strong arms. The mighty king of the
rākshasas cried in pain. So loud was his scream that the earth began to
shake. The noise frightened all the beings of the three worlds and they
began to scream, making a dreadful noise.5
Rāvana repeatedly tried to free his trapped arms. His efforts were futile.
When nothing worked, some of his wiser ministers made a suggestion, ‘It
seems to us that the only way you stand any chance of setting yourself free
is by appealing to Bhagvān Shankar himself.’ In desperation, Dashagreeva
began singing paeans to please Shiva. It is said he sang and sang for many
days till his ego was completely humbled. Eventually, the ever-benign
Shiva was pleased and set his arms free.
Because his scream— (rāva)—made the whole world scream, Shiva
gave him the name Rāvana.
Rāvana’s humbling of ego was only short-lived and Shiva-specific. His
unrighteous ways continued unabated.
There is another popular story that states that Rāvana tried to move
Kailāsh because he wanted Shiva to be with him in Lankā. It is also said
that Rāvana’s appeals to please Shiva are compiled into what we call the
‘Shiva Tāndava Stotram’. However, Vālmiki Rāmāyana makes no
mention of these.
Rāvana becomes a Shiva bhakta not out of any inherent dedication, but
out of desperation.
The ever-merciful Shiva accepts bhakti in whichever manner it comes!
Multiple Transgressions
Rāvana’s obsession with power manifested perversely in his unquenched
lust for women. He kidnapped and raped numerous women. Resigning to
their fate, most eventually gave in to the might and power of the king of
rākshasas. Hanumāna had seen some of these women in Rāvana’s palace
when he went looking for Seetā.
Shurpanakhā knew her brother’s weakness for beautiful women. Hence,
to get him to inflict pain on Rāma and Lakshmana, she used the ploy of
describing Seetā’s beauty to him rather than making a case for revenge for
her own disfigurement. Her elaborate description of Seetā created an
intense desire in Rāvana to possess Seetā even though there was no dearth
of beautiful women for him in Lankā.
When lust strikes, it topples every sense of discrimination in a person.
Rāvana was so enslaved by lust that Māreecha’s wise counsel, pleadings
and description of the hazards of potential consequences of Seetā’s
abduction, fell on deaf ears. Arm-twisting Māreecha into complying with
his instructions, Rāvana abducted Seetā from Janasthāna and brought her to
Lankā.
Rāvana had not taken any of his ministers into confidence before
embarking on this misadventure of Seetā’s abduction. He mentioned it to
them only after Hanumāna’s exploits which, even though Rāvana didn’t
overtly show it, got him worried. He wanted to bring his ministers on board
to decide a plan of action if Rāma were to come to Lankā.
Seetā’s abduction did not come as a shock to any of Rāvana’s ministers.
This trait of his was not news for the people of Lankā either. Most
ministers, to stay in his good books, even encouraged his ways. To prove
their loyalty, some even boasted that Rāvana had nothing to fear as the
rākshasas could easily defeat the prince of Ayodhyā and his army.6
Kumbhakarna did rebuke Rāvana for performing such a rash act without
consulting anyone. But despite his reservations, he promised to kill Rāma to
please his brother.7
One thing which surprised all the ministers was Rāvana’s willingness to
wait for Seetā’s acquiescence. One of his ministers, Mahāpārshva, gave a
voice to that view, ‘Only a fool doesn’t drink the honey he has acquired
from a forest full of wild animals. You are the master. Enjoy Seetā as you
wish. Like a dog, attack her again and again and amuse yourself. Once you
have had your way, you will have nothing to fear. We will decide the right
course of action when the time comes. We have illustrious warriors like
Kumbhakarna and Indrajeet on our side, what is there to worry about?’
Looking approvingly at Mahāpārshva, Rāvana disclosed one of his
closely guarded secrets. ‘Some years ago, I had seen an extremely attractive
lady, as resplendent as a flame of fire. Her name was Punjiksthalā. I was
infatuated. Pulling her clothes off forcibly, I enjoyed her fully and let her
go. She complained to Brahma deva about my actions. Angrily he cast a
curse on me, “From today, if you force yourself on any woman against her
wish, your head will explode into a hundred pieces.” This curse is why I am
not forcing myself on Seetā.’8
Rāvana told his ministers only about this one curse through Punjiksthalā,
probably because it was given by Brahma deva and consequently the most
potent. But there were many other women who wished him death due to the
pain he had inflicted by molesting them. Usually, he kidnapped women and
brought them to Lankā, where they were forced to spend the rest of their
lives in his service. But some were more fortunate; they managed to escape
after he had his way with them.9
One such woman was Vedavati. After receiving a drubbing at the hands
of Rāma in their first combat, Rāvana was reminded of her. ‘It seems that
Vedavati, who had cursed me earlier for molesting her, has taken birth as
Seetā,’ he said in a moment of weakness.10
Vedavati
Vedavati was a young tapasvini dwelling in a forest on the foothills of the
Himalayas. One day, while roaming around the area, Rāvana’s eyes fell
on her. Seeing this beautiful lady in the full bloom of her youth, Rāvana
was overcome with an intense desire. He tried to tempt her with sweet,
flattering words. When that didn’t work, he forcibly pulled her hair and
began molesting her. Vedavati was not the one to give in. With all her
might, she pulled herself free. She was burning with anger at being
violated. Right in front of Rāvana, she set herself on fire after
pronouncing a curse on him that she will take birth again as his nemesis.11
Rambhā
There was another curse on Rāvana, that of Nalakuber and Rambhā.
Rambhā was a nymph married to Nalakuber, the son of Kuber. By that
relation, she was Rāvana’s daughter-in-law. Once, during his Himalayan
escapades, when he was camping in a garden, he noticed Rambhā pass by.
Her beauty was unparalleled. Rāvana was aware of who she was. Still, he
began to woo her, boasting about his strengths.
Rambhā was shocked at Rāvana’s overtures. She reminded him of his
relationship with her and pleaded with him not to speak in that manner. ‘I
am your daughter-in-law. You should be protecting me if other men cast a
lustful eye on me,’ she implored. But Rāvana’s lust was so overpowering
that he refused to recognise the sanctity of their relations. He violated her
to his heart’s content. Rambha was embarrassed and in tears. She told her
husband, Nalakuber, about the incident. He was mad with rage. Rāvana
was way too powerful by then for anyone to challenge him in a fight.
Hence, both Rambhā and Nalakuber pronounced a curse on Rāvana that if
he dared to force himself on another woman, his head would split into
pieces.12
Rāvana was afraid of forcing himself on Seetā because the thoughts of
these curses were playing on his mind—it was not because he cared for
‘consent’. Before Brahma deva’s curse, he had never waited for any
woman’s consent. A lot many women had fallen prey to his unbounded
lust.
The story of Punjiksthalā is mentioned in the Yuddha Kānda, so is the
reference to Vedavati’s and Rambhā’s curses.
Beyond Redemption
While Rāvana had a sycophantic group of courtiers who supported him in
everything he said and did, it was not as if he did not have any wise
counsel. Māreecha had already warned him of dire consequences when
Rāvana had sought his help for Seetā’s abduction. Kumbhakarna had
reproached him for his brash act of abducting Seetā’s but had eventually
expressed solidarity in the fight against Rāma. Vibhishana, too, never
approved of Rāvana’s lustful ways. He had tried to stop him earlier as well
but to no avail.
Rāvana had escaped, apparently with impunity, in spite of his
transgressions for far too long. The men whose wives and daughters he had
violated were too weak to retaliate. Most had already lost their lives at his
hands. Unlike them, Rāma was not weak. He also had supporters who were
not meek either. The people of Lankā had witnessed Hanumāna’s prowess.
They had also heard of Rāma’s annihilation of Khara and Dushana in
Janasthāna. It was not a trivial feat. Vibhishana had sensed that it would be
unwise to underestimate an opponent like Rāma.
He appealed to Rāvana to liberate Seetā and send her to Rāma with
respect. ‘Don’t be so eager for war. A decision to attack should be taken
when the opponent is either unaware or weak or is busy fending off attacks
by other opponents. Rāma is not unaware, he would be looking forward
enthusiastically to fighting a war with you. Nor is he weak. We have seen
his strength in Janasthāna and Hanumāna’s strength right here in Lankā.
Besides, we have no enmity with Rāma. Hence there is no justification for
abducting his wife. His fight with Khara, Dushana and their forces in
Janasthāna was only in self-defence. It is therefore wise to let Seetā go
rather than calling upon the destruction of Lankā,’ Vibhishana advised.13
He beseeched Rāvana’s council of ministers too, reminding them of their
duty towards the king, and told them, ‘Our king has been overcome by lust
and is not able to think clearly. By your ready acquiescence, you are
behaving more like his enemy in the disguise of a friend, calling for the
destruction of our community. Until now, it is through Rāvana that all your
desires have been fulfilled. Behave like his true well-wishers and show him
the correct path. Measure the pros and cons of an action before supporting
it. If preventing Rāvana from going astray requires you to admonish him,
you must do so.’14
Even before Rāvana could respond, Indrajeet jumped in, accusing his
uncle of cowardice. ‘Why are you trying to scare us like a coward? Any
rākshasa of ours can kill those two humans. And do you not know of my
achievements? I have brought even Indra to his knees,’ he sneered at
Vibhishana. Then he addressed Rāvana, ‘In our family, only this uncle
seems to be devoid of any kind of courage and vitality.’15
Puffed up at his son’s ready approval, Rāvana further insulted
Vibhishana, ‘I am very aware of the nature of kinsmen. They cannot digest
the success of one of their own but are happy to celebrate his troubles. You
are jealous of my prosperity and authority. You are not my well-wisher, but
a disgrace to our community.16 Had someone else spoken like you have, he
would have been dead by now.’17
This humiliation was far too much for Vibhishana to take. He told
Rāvana, ‘Your mind has become completely deluded. You have lost your
way. To the person who is so driven towards his own destruction, beneficial
words do not make sense. It is indeed easy to find people who will always
say pleasing words to flatter you. But it is very difficult to find speakers,
who will say the right thing, even if unpleasant, and listeners who can take
the feedback.18 It seems to me that you are beyond redemption. Your end is
near. Whatever I said was only because I care for your well-being. But you
don’t seem to like that. So be it. Protect yourself and Lankā. I will leave.
May you be happy without me.’19
Vibhishana left. No one tried to stop him.
After Vibhishana went away, Rāvana was alerted about Rāma’s prowess
by others as well. Rāvana had revelled in the fact that there was no way
Rāma and Lakshmana could reach Lankā. His belief was probably justified
until the bridge across the ocean had not been built. But the bridge did get
built and Rāma reached Lankā. Rāvana’s spies Shuka and Sāran informed
him of the might and preparedness of the vānaras in detail. Their voice had
an undertone of fear. ‘There is no way we will be able to contain the army
of Sugreeva and the power of Rāma and Lakshmana. We have nothing to
gain by opposing them. It is better for us that you let Seetā go,’ they said.20
Rāvana dismissed their concern angrily. ‘It appears to me that you have
been intimidated by the vānaras due to which you have become so scared
that you are asking me to return Seetā. Can you name any opponent who
has defeated me in battle till now? Even if the devas, dānavas and
gandharvas come together to fight me in a battle, I will not let go of Seetā,’
he thundered.21 He even mocked Shuka and Sāran for praising the enemy
and threw them out, calling them ungrateful. But at the same time, he sent
some other trusted spies to assess the planning and preparations in the
vānara camp. They too came back with similar observations but without
offering any advice on what their king should do.22
When the vānara army reached the Lankān shores and war seemed
imminent, Rāvana’s mother Kaikasi and some of his elder ministers who
still had the courage to give Rāvana unbiased opinions, advised him to
avoid a confrontation with Rāma by letting Seetā go.23
Malyavān, Rāvana’s maternal grand-uncle, also made an attempt at
advising him against war, explaining the concept of political pragmatism.
‘Only that king survives and prospers who knows when to ally and when to
wage a battle. When an opponent is equal in strength or stronger, it is better
to make an alliance with him. Hence, allying with Rāma is a better strategy
for us,’ he advised.24
As expected, Rāvana paid no heed.
Instead, he tried to trick Seetā into believing Rāma was dead to get her to
yield. The opposing army was knocking at the door but Rāvana’s priority
was to somehow attain Seetā. Seetā didn’t yield—she was never going to.
That his lust would push his people, his citizens, into an ocean of misery
didn’t occur to Rāvana.
Clash of the Titans
Angada came as a messenger to formally propose peace through freeing
Seetā, or war. Rāvana’s behaviour was predictable. He ordered Angada’s
capture, but he escaped. War conches were blown. In the first few days,
except for Indrajeet, all the commanders sent by Rāvana were killed on the
battlefield. After losing one of his dear ministers, Prahasta, in the war, the
king of Lankā decided to enter the battlefield himself to lead the army of
rākshasas.
Rāma had seen Rāvana once, standing atop his terrace in Lankā. But he
was too far away to make an impression. Hence, when Rāvana came to the
battlefield, Rāma did not immediately recognise him. But he was impressed
by the lustrous aura of the incoming warrior. He asked Vibhishana about the
new commander of the rākshasa army. Vibhishana gave an elaborate
introduction.
Rāma looked on, amazed. ‘Oh, what effulgence the king of rākshasas
radiates. Such physique, such vitality is rare to find even in devas. Good
that he has finally come before me. Today I will direct on him the anger that
has been swelling in me since the time he kidnapped Seetā,’ he announced,
half impressed, half angry.25
Rāvana was a formidable warrior on the battlefield. That day he fought
with Lakshmana, Sugreeva, Neela, Hanumāna and other vānara
commanders. His attack left Sugreeva and Neela unconscious. With
Hanumāna, he had a hand-to-hand combat, both matching each other in
strength. Rāvana quickly moved on to challenge Lakshmana. Lakshmana
was waiting for his turn to take on the king of Lankā. A fierce battle of
arrows ensued. Then Rāvana used a brutal shakti weapon that struck
Lakshmana’s chest, sending burning sensations down his body. Lakshmana
collapsed on the ground unconscious, but still alive. Hanumāna saw
Lakshmana fall. He angrily rushed towards Rāvana and dealt a huge blow
on Rāvana’s chest with his fist. The force was such that blood spilled out of
Rāvana’s mouth, eyes and ears, and he fell unconscious in his chariot.
Hanumāna then lifted Lakshmana and brought him to a safe place, close to
Rāma.
Soon Lakshmana and Rāvana both regained consciousness. They stood
up, ready to fight once again. This time Rāma challenged Rāvana. As
Rāvana was on a chariot, Hanumāna lifted Rāma on his shoulders to enable
him to fight better. Rather than respond to Rāma’s challenge, Rāvana aimed
his arrows at Hanumāna and severely injured him. This made Rāma furious.
He showered back-to-back arrows on Rāvana and completely disarmed
him. In no time Rāma killed Rāvana’s horses and the sārthi26 and even
broke his chariot. Rāvana stood there shocked, completely exposed, not
knowing what had hit him.
Rāma halted his attack. Looking sternly at Rāvana he said, ‘You have
shown great energy on the battlefield today, combating some of my best
commanders. I see that you are completely exhausted at this point. Hence, I
will not kill you. Go back to your city now. You will see my prowess when
you are back on another chariot, having rested and replenished your
weapons.’
Embarrassed, Rāvana didn’t say a word. He quickly turned around and
headed back to his palace.27
The defeat crushed Rāvana’s pride and confidence. But he was too invested
in the war by then to do anything to stop it. He sent Kumbhakarna to the
battlefield. Rāvana was confident that Kumbhakarna, his ace warrior, would
win the war for him. That was not to be. After Kumbhakarna created havoc
both on the vānara and the rākshasa side, he was eventually slain by Rāma.
The news of Kumbhakarna’s death shook Rāvana. His sorrow reminded
him of Vibhishana’s wise words of caution. If only he had listened! But
there was no stopping the war now. The sons and brothers of the rākshasas
who were killed in the war wanted revenge. They were determined to fight
it out. They fought well. Sugreeva’s army led by Rāma and Lakshmana,
however, was much stronger. One by one, Rāvana’s men met their death.
Rāvana’s final hope was Indrajeet, his son, who had vanquished even the
mighty Indra and had never tasted defeat ever before. But Indrajeet too
succumbed. Lakshmana killed him after a long fight.
With Indrajeet gone, Rāvana had lost everything. His lust for Seetā then
turned into extreme anger. He wanted her dead. He even went to
Ashokavātikā to kill her, only to be held back by Supārshva, one of his
ministers.28 Eventually, Rāvana left Seetā alone and returned to his palace.
The war had to go on. Rāvana then sent some other of his surviving
rākshasa warriors to the battlefield. Rāma eliminated them all with his
unparalleled skills.
Lankā was now in ruins. Every household had lost someone or the other
in the battle. The women were mourning. No one blamed Rāma. They knew
he was there to rescue his wife. They were angry at Shurpanakhā. She was
the root cause of this tragedy. ‘How audacious of an old woman like her to
lay eyes on the young princes of Ayodhyā. She is the one who pushed
Khara, Dushana and then Rāvana into this war. It is because of
Shurpanakhā’s instigation that Rāvana abducted Seetā and antagonised
Rāma. Vibhishana did give worthy advice to Rāvana, but our king
disparaged even him. Only if Rāvana had acted as Vibhishana had
suggested, our Lankā wouldn’t have turned into a cremation ground,’ thus
wailed the women of Lankā.29
It was too late to make any amends. Rāvana decided to go all in—throw
all of whatever and whoever was remaining into the battle. He entered the
battlefield again, aggressively taking down anyone who came in his way.
He was looking for Rāma. Lakshmana tried to stop him but Rāvana
continued to head towards Rāma. Once again Rāma and Rāvana came to
face each other. Both knew this was the final battle between them.
A huge battle took place, with both displaying exceptional talents, each
matching the other in might, skill and execution. The thunderous sounds
created by the pulling of bowstrings struck terror in the heart of all the
creatures around. Sometimes their blazing arrows would meet halfway and
split, falling asunder; at other times they would strike and injure their target.
The intensity of the fight went up a notch with every strike. Both started
using the powerful Agneyāstra, Raudrāstra and other celestial weapons on
each other. Lakshmana stepped in to give Rāma some respite and led the
fight against the mighty rākshasa king. Rāvana shot a very powerful shakti
at Lakshmana, once again making him fall unconscious. Seeing his brother
severely injured and unconscious, Rāma was filled with rage. He
channelled his rage into his arrows and shot a volley against Rāvana.
Unable to stand the force, Rāvana escaped, giving Rāma some time to tend
to Lakshmana.30
By the time Lakshmana regained consciousness, Rāvana was back, too.
The fight began once again. Rāvana attacked from his chariot while Rāma
fought from the ground. It was an unfair match, tipped against Rāma. Then
something very interesting took place. A sārthi named Mātāli came over to
offer his chariot to Rāma. ‘Indra has sent this chariot for you along with this
armour and these weapons. Mount this chariot, Rāma, and kill Rāvana; I
will be your sārthi,’ Mātāli said.31
When the intention is aligned with dharma and determination to act prevails, when
the time is right, divine intervention invariably takes place!
After circumambulating and bowing to the chariot, Rāma mounted it and
began his assault on Rāvana. Rāvana matched Rāma’s attack. An
electrifying battle followed. One after the other, they showered their most
potent weapons on each other. Each was equally capable of countering the
other’s weapons and laying them waste. It was not as if they weren’t hurt.
Every limb of theirs had been hit by arrows. Blood oozed out of their
wounds. But their spirits were undaunted and they kept going. Their fight
was not limited to weapons alone. Both hurled verbal assaults on each other
as well. At one point, Rāvana’s sārthi observed that his master had become
visibly weak and slow. Rāvana was losing his grip over his bow and
struggling to attack or even contain Rāma. The sārthi, therefore, slowly
pulled the chariot away from the battlefield, much to Rāvana’s
indignation.32
‘What have you done you fool! Do think I am a coward and have become
devoid of energy, vigour and weapons? How did you even think of
belittling me like this and driving me out of the battlefield? You have
destroyed the fame that I had rightfully earned with my heroism. You have
behaved like my enemy. Turn around and take me back to the battlefield
immediately,’ Rāvana screamed at his sārthi.
The sārthi maintained his composure and explained his actions politely,
‘Neither was I scared, nor had I lost my discrimination. Neither did I intend
to belittle you, nor have I forgotten all that you have done for me. I did this
because I thought it was in your best interests, even if you may not approve
of it. I observed that you were showing signs of exhaustion and were not
able to contain the attack properly. My horses were also extremely tired and
were losing their balance. The situation on the battlefield appeared
unfavourable for you.’
The sārthi continued, ‘A sārthi must be capable of determining the need
of the time and place. He must be able to study the body language of his
master as well as that of the opponent. He must have complete knowledge
of the terrain of the land where he is driving the chariot. He should always
remain alert and be astute enough to assess where and how to move the
chariot on the battlefield, and when to exit if the situation so arises.’
He added, ‘I left the field just to allow you and these horses to get some
rest. My decision was not based on any whim, but it was because I care for
your well-being.’ Rāvana had calmed down by then. Satisfied with the
sārthi’s response, Rāvana asked him to get back to the field where Rāma
awaited him.33
Rāma too was exhausted after the battle with Rāvana. With Rāvana gone,
he got some respite. It was during this break that Rishi Agastya came to see
him and gave him the powerful Āditya Hridaya Stotra,34 a prayer eulogising
Surya deva.
‘One who recites this stotra revering Surya deva doesn’t perish even
when faced with grave danger or severe affliction. With your mind focused,
meditate on the sun and chant this stotra thrice for victory in this war,’ said
the rishi. Rāma obeyed. The mantra had its impact. Rāma felt rejuvenated
and invigorated, ready to face Rāvana again.35
When Rāvana returned to the battlefield, Rāma spoke to Mātāli. ‘O
Mātāli, without giving in to fear or doubt, with a stable mind and vision,
controlling the reigns well, manoeuvre the chariot quickly. Not that I need
to teach you your job—you are the sārthi of Indra himself. As I prepare
myself for the battle, I am only reminding you of your role, not trying to
teach you anything,’ he said. Mātāli was impressed with Rāma’s
steadfastness. He moved the chariot to place it past Rāvana’s. The wheels
raised a storm of dust as the chariot sped by, inciting the rākshasa king.
The battle between Rāma and Rāvana began once again. It was so fierce
and so marvellous that both the vānara and the rākshasa army stopped
fighting and stood in their tracks to witness the combat between the titans
play out. It was as if the whole world, including the devas and the
gandharvas, stood still, just to watch this exceptional face-off between
Rāma and Rāvana.
To describe the battle between Rāma and Rāvana, Rishi Vālmiki uses a
very interesting figure of speech called the —ananvaya
alankār—in which the object compared and the object with which the
comparison is made are one and the same. It is used where the object or
phenomenon is such that it has no parallel. Rishi Vālmiki says:
|
||
Like the sky is its own cognate and the ocean its own simile, the battle of Rāma and
Rāvana was akin to the battle of Rāma and Rāvana only.36
Nothing can describe the vastness of the sky as the sky itself. There is no
other object that can fully explain the boundlessness of the ocean as the
ocean itself. Likewise, the battle between Rāma and Rāvana had no
precedence. It was one of its kind.
Finally, Rāma decided it was time to put an end to the battle. He aimed his
arrow at Rāvana’s neck. Rāvana’s head got cut from his body and fell to the
ground. To everyone’s amazement, another head appeared in its place.
Rāvana was undoubtedly adept at using powers of illusion. Rāma cut his
head off once again. Once again, a new head appeared. This happened over
a hundred times. Rāvana roared with laughter. He mocked Rāma’s
helplessness as they continued their duel.37
Rāma wondered how to succeed against Rāvana when Mātāli offered
some useful advice—as a good sārthi should. ‘You are being too defensive.
You have the shakti of Brahma deva. Use that fail-safe shakti on Rāvana.
He is a suitable opponent on whom it should be used.’
Rāma remembered the arrow—the shakti of Brahma deva—that Rishi
Agastya had given him when he had visited his āshram with Seetā and
Lakshmana. He took it out and aimed at Rāvana. The arrow pierced through
Rāvana’s chest. The mighty king of Lankā collapsed dead,
instantaneously.38
The war was over. Rāma and the vānaras had defeated the great king of
Lankā decisively on his home ground.
When Rāvana’s women heard about his death, they came rushing out of
their palaces to see their husband one last time. Mandodari, his chief queen,
came too. She was still mourning over her eldest son Indrajeet’s death and
here lay the only man she had ever loved. Holding her husband’s dead body,
she cried and lamented like someone who had lost all reasons to live. Her
lamentations were laced with regret, for she had seen all this coming.
‘Previously, having won over your senses,’ she said, ‘you achieved
victory over the three worlds. Possibly, the senses remembered that and
decided to avenge your control on them. By deluding you completely, they
won over you. After I heard of Rāma’s activities in Janasthāna, I was
convinced he was no ordinary man. How many times I tried to discourage
you from seeking animosity with him! But you paid no heed. It was clear to
me that your desire for Seetā would destroy your prosperity, your loved
ones and your life. What surprised me is how did the fire of Seetā’s
focussed devotion to Rāma not burn you instantly when you kidnapped
her?’
Mandodari continued in the same vein. ‘That a sinner has to face the
results of his karma is beyond any doubt. You have received what you
deserved. You had so many women in the palace who were more beautiful
than Seetā. Seetā was no match to me, neither in beauty nor in skill nor
family of birth. But you were so blinded in your lust for her that you
refused to see or understand. Every living creature eventually must die, he
only needs a trigger. Seetā came in your life as that trigger of your death,’
sobbed Mandodari.39
With the way the war had progressed, no one was surprised at the
outcome. Rāvana had been warned by all his well-wishers. But then, who is
more blind than the one who refuses to see, who is more deaf than the one
who refuses to hear? The sheath of conceit and the smoke of lust had
clouded every sense of his, making him tread the path of injustice. Neither
Brahma deva’s boon nor the prosperity of Lankā, neither the best of rituals
nor an all-conquering son like Indrajeet, neither any amount of bravery nor
any kind of smart wit, can save a person who has completely surrendered
the reigns of his thoughts and mind to the impulses of desire and ego.
Shurpanakhā possibly wished to manipulate Rāvana by exploiting his
lustful ways. Little did she know she was pushing Rāvana into the hands of
death—or did she? He was responsible for the death of her husband, after
all.
In the Srimad Bhagavad Geetā, Krishna talks about how obsession due to
lust, anger, greed and pride leads to one’s downfall. It matters little how
courageous or intelligent a person is otherwise. Krishna says:
When a person dwells on objects (excessively), there arises attachment for
them. From attachment grows intense desire (to own it); from such desire
springs anger (when the desire is not fulfilled). From anger follows
delusion; delusion leads to failure of memory; failure of memory causes
the loss of intellect (wisdom) and the person is destroyed.
For Duryodhana and Karna, it was intense jealousy. For Rāvana, it was
his unquenched lust and overblown ego.40
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13
The Difficulty of Being Good
‘Whatever I said was only because I care for your well-being. But you don’t
seem to like that. So be it. Protect yourself and Lankā. I will leave. May you
be happy without me,’ Vibhishana had said before leaving Lankā, when
Rāvana accused him of jealousy and ill-will. Vibhishana’s crime was his
open disagreement with his elder brother on the issue of Seetā’s abduction.
It was not the first time that he had disagreed with Rāvana. He had let his
displeasure known when Rāvana, befuddled with lust, seized unwilling
women and brought them to Lankā. There were times when Vibhishana
succeeded in tactfully persuading Rāvana to do the right thing, as he had
done by stopping him from killing Hanumāna. But more often than not,
Rāvana’s obduracy prevailed and Vibhishana submitted.
But this time it was different. Vibhishana desperately tried to dissuade
Rāvana from holding on to Seetā and starting a war with Rāma. It was as if
he had a premonition of the devastation that Rāvana’s lechery and
arrogance was going to bring to Lankā. Rāvana did not like warnings. He
was so irritated that he insulted his well-meaning younger brother, calling
him all kinds of names.
The Deliberations
Shrouded in an assumed sense of invincibility, few in Lankā bothered about
the tussle between the brothers of the royal family and even fewer cared
about Vibhishana leaving Lankā.
Vibhishana left but he chose not to remain a bystander. Along with four
trusted men, he went across to the other side of the ocean where Rāma and
the vānara army were trying to find a way to reach Lankā.1 When the tall
and sturdy Vibhishana and his men entered the camp, carrying their
weapons and looking for Rāma, Sugreeva was alarmed. ‘Beware, it seems
these rākshasas have come to kill us,’ he said, alerting his commanders. The
vānaras immediately got ready to retaliate.
Vibhishana guessed the reason for the sudden commotion in the vānara
camp. To allay their fear, he halted and addressed Sugreeva to let him know
the reason for his unannounced arrival, ‘I am Vibhishana, the younger
brother of Rāvana. My brother abducted Seetā from Janasthāna, killed
Jatāyu and has now imprisoned her in Lankā. I earnestly appealed to him to
return Seetā respectfully to Rāma. But like a person rushing towards death
refuses to take medicine, Rāvana ignored my warnings. Instead, he
humiliated me as if I were a slave. Hence, leaving behind my wives and
children, I have come to seek refuge in Rāma. Please convey my message to
him.’
Sugreeva, still wary, rushed to inform Rāma and Lakshmana of this
questionable visitor. ‘A few men who were earlier in Rāvana’s army have
arrived suddenly, saying they want to be on our side. I do not trust them at
all. I believe they will wait for us to drop our vigilance and then attack us,
just like an owl who assaults the unsuspecting crows. Possibly, they are
spies sent by Rāvana to foment trouble in our army. One can include
soldiers of friends, of other warrior tribes and even paid mercenaries in
one’s army, but never those who have served in the enemy’s army earlier.
This man who has come with four others says he is Rāvana’s brother
Vibhishana and seeks refuge. I am sure Rāvana must have sent him
purposefully to destroy us. We must not trust him at all. He is as good as
our enemy, Rāvana. Therefore, we must punish him with death.’
Rāma heard Sugreeva patiently and gave a lot of thought to what he said.
Then he addressed the other vānaras, ‘You just heard the astute observations
of Sugreeva about Vibhishana. It is important to hear the views and
suggestions of one’s friends and well-wishers when a situation of doubt
arises. Hence, I would like to know your opinion on this. What should we
do?’
Asked thus, the vānara chiefs felt gratified and began sharing their
opinions. Angada spoke first. ‘As Vibhishana comes from the enemy camp,
we cannot instantly place trust in him. Some people are experts in
concealing their true intentions. We must keep an eye on him and think
about what we can gain from him. If he has qualities that help us, then we
can accept him. However, if he shows traits detrimental to us, we should
keep him away.’
Sharabh, another vānara chief, spoke next. ‘We could appoint a spy to
study Vibhishana’s actions and motivations and test him. Depending on
what we find, we can decide what to do with him,’ he advised.
‘Rāvana has chosen to antagonise us, and he is very cunning. Vibhishana
comes to us from Rāvana’s camp. The place and timing of his arrival seem
dubious. Hence, we must remain circumspect with respect to him,’ said
Jāmbavana thoughtfully.
Maind put his diplomatic intellect to use, ‘We must use tact to figure out
Vibhishana’s true intentions. We must make relevant enquiries of him using
sweet words to gain his trust and make him divulge the truth. Only after that
can we decide whether to include him in our team or not.’
Then Hanumāna arose to speak. ‘Before I begin, I want to state that I do
not intend to belittle anyone. Whatever I am about to say is my opinion and
not a criticism of what people here have said. I do not think we are in the
position to test Vibhishana. His motivations can be known only after we
accept him and assign some work to him. But testing him beforehand seems
inappropriate to me. Spying on him is not possible in the current situation
as he is already here.’
Pausing for a moment, Hanumāna continued, ‘I believe the timing of his
coming here is not so dubious. He has clearly expressed the reason for
leaving the immoral Rāvana and coming to the side of the righteous Rāma.
When else would it have been a better time to take this call? If we attempt
to make too many awkward enquiries of him, there is a chance he will feel
disrespected and we may lose an important ally. And while it is extremely
difficult to know what is in a person’s mind, a smart person can find that out
by closely observing the other person’s tone and expressions. The face
always reflects the intentions. I do not observe any such flaws in his tone
and body language.’
Hanumāna was the only one among the vānaras who had seen
Vibhishana earlier. It was Vibhishana’s intervention that had dissuaded
Rāvana from killing Hanumāna in Lankā. Therefore, Vibhishana’s claim of
disagreement with Rāvana did not seem doubtful to him. ‘I think
Vibhishana has taken this decision to come over to our side after weighing
in all the pros and cons. He is aware of Rāma’s extraordinary feats and
believes Rāvana’s defeat is imminent. He may have come to our side,
desirous of the kingdom of Lankā after the fall of Rāvana,’ said
Hanumāna.2
Pondering deeply over all that was said, Rāma expressed his opinion,
‘Vibhishana has come to me as a friend, seeking refuge. Therefore, even if
it appears inappropriate, we must accept him. Great men do not proscribe
giving shelter to the one who comes seeking.’
Hearing this Sugreeva spoke again, respectfully disagreeing, ‘It doesn’t
matter how he has come to us. How can we trust a man who gives up on his
own brother in times of calamity? If he cannot stand by his brother in need,
which other relations will he not betray?’
Rāma smiled. It was a fair point but possibly not applicable to
Vibhishana, he believed. ‘You make a sharp observation Sugreeva.
However, we need to consider other aspects as well before proclaiming that
he has betrayed his brother. Kings are wary of two kinds of threats, external
—from other kingdoms—and internal—from their own people. Sometimes,
even a valid criticism from his kinsmen is seen as a threat by the king.
Given Vibhishana’s overt disapproval of Rāvana’s ways, even though done
with the best of intentions and with the welfare of Lankā in mind, Rāvana
may have started viewing Vibhishana as his enemy. In such a situation,
having lost the trust of the king, Vibhishana’s worry about the threat to his
life and his subsequent abandonment of Rāvana cannot be called betrayal.’
Displaying sharp insights and acumen in understanding human
psychology, Rāma added, ‘Moreover, he seems to desire the kingdom of
Lankā. If we accept him and promise to crown him the king of Lankā, he
will not abandon us. Rather, he will become happy and prove to be an asset
to us in this war. This situation also tells me that the rākshasas do not trust
one another, a factor that can work to our advantage. It’s rare to find a
brother like Bharata or a friend like you.’
Sugreeva was not completely convinced but Rāma had made up his mind
to accept Vibhishana. It was the right thing to do morally and strategically,
he believed.3
The Induction
On getting affirmation from Rāma, Vibhishana came to see him and fell at
his feet. ‘Having faced severe humiliation from my brother Rāvana, I have
given up my family, Lankā and my friends and have come to seek refuge in
you. My possessions, my life and my happiness are all subject to your will,’
he said earnestly. Rāma welcomed him with compassion. He understood
Vibhishana’s struggle. But he was also pragmatic. He knew there was an
important war to be fought for which Vibhishana’s information as an insider
would be immensely helpful.
‘Tell me about the strengths and weaknesses of the rākshasa forces in
detail,’ asked Rāma, wasting no time. Vibhishana’s answer, body language,
tone and tenor would also help to evaluate his intentions. Vibhishana did
not hesitate. He explained the security arrangements of Lankā, giving
details of the strength of Rāvana’s armies. He also gave an elaborate
description of Rāvana and his key commanders. Lankā was definitely a
force to reckon with.
Rāma listened to Vibhishana’s words intently and declared, ‘Let it be
heard loud and clear. However strong Rāvana and his ministers are, I will
kill all of them and crown you the king of Lankā. I promise that. I will not
return to Ayodhyā unless I kill Rāvana along with his kinsmen.’
Vibhishana also let his resolve known. ‘I will support you to my full
capacity to kill the rākshasa army and capture Lankā,’ he promised. Rāma
embraced him. With the vānaras as witnesses, Rāma declared Vibhishana as
the king of Lankā.4
Vibhishana’s candid, unambiguous declaration helped to alleviate the
doubt that many vānaras had harboured in their minds about him even after
Rāma’s decision to welcome him.
The War
Before the war began, Rāvana sent his spies to foment trouble in the vānara
camp. Vibhishana’s presence foiled their attempt.5 Vibhishana was
determined to ensure Rāma’s success. On reaching Lankā, he arranged for
his companions Anal, Panas, Sampāti and Pramati, to enter the city,
infiltrate Rāvana’s army and get updates on the most recent happenings in
the city and the war preparations. He informed Rāma and Sugreeva about
the commanders guarding the gates of Lankā and the size of the army
deployed with each of them. Based on this, Rāma deployed his vānara
commanders on the four gates to match the strength of the rākshasas.6
Once the war began, Vibhishana served as a source of intelligence about
the rākshasas and their war strategies. He was also a pillar of strength for
Rāma and Sugreeva. Every time a new commander came to lead the
rākshasa army, Vibhishana would diligently give a detailed background
about him to Rāma to help him make a plan to counter him.
When Indrajeet made Rāma and Lakshmana unconscious by using a
nāgapāsh on them, the vānaras and Sugreeva were disheartened. Frightened
and tormented by Indrajeet and shocked at seeing Rāma and Lakshmana
lying like dead men on the ground, they didn’t know what to do. How were
they to fight if the princes of Ayodhyā were dead? Sugreeva was almost in
tears.
Vibhishana was the only one who held himself together. He comforted
Sugreeva and said, ‘Don’t be scared and don’t lose hope. Battles tend to be
uncertain and such things happen. This is not the time to grieve. Rather, you
should be commanding the forces in Rāma’s absence and ensure they don’t
fall apart. Rāma and Lakshmana aren’t dead, they have only become
unconscious. Look at Rāma’s body. It retains its lustre. The princes will rise
soon and lead us. Till then, motivate your army so that they remain
enthused to fight.’7
Inspired by these words, Sugreeva got into action. He rallied his soldiers
and instructed them to watch out for a potential rākshasa attack. Some
commanders were assigned the task of protecting Rāma and Lakshmana
from all sides. A garuda’s intervention brought them back to consciousness,
relieving them from the effect of the snakes.
Vibhishana’s insights played a very important role in holding Rāma
together in the second half of the war. To confound the vānaras and shock
Rāma, Indrajeet used his powers of illusion once again. He showed an
illusion to the vānaras in which they saw him killing Seetā. This had the
desired impact. The vānaras rushed to inform Rāma. The news shook Rāma
to the core. In the meanwhile, Indrajeet had planned to conduct a ritual in
the Nikumbhilā temple to gain even stronger powers of illusion, making
him invincible in the war.
When Vibhishana saw Rāma and the vānaras in a state of agitation and
anguish and learnt the reason for it, he knew instantly what must have
transpired. ‘There is no way Indrajeet can kill Seetā. Rāvana will never
permit that. This was Indrajeet’s deception to buy time and complete the
ritual that will make him practically unassailable. We must kill him before
he finishes his rituals,’ Vibhishana informed them, with a sense of urgency.8
Following his advice, Rāma sent Lakshmana to challenge Indrajeet and in
the battle that followed, Indrajeet was eventually killed.
In addition to all this, Vibhishana and his four men actively participated
in the war, killing warriors of the rākshasa army.9
The Allegations
Rāvana was the reason why Vibhishana left Lankā. As the war progressed,
Rāvana came to realise the wisdom and foresight of Vibhishana’s words.
But the realisation fell short of making him correct his course. Both Rāvana
and Indrajeet were upset about Vibhishana allying with Rāma. The anger
came to the fore when they saw Vibhishana on the battlefield, fighting
alongside Rāma.
Indrajeet had never particularly respected his uncle Vibhishana. He had
called him a coward when Vibhishana had suggested making peace with
Rāma. That same uncle was responsible for foiling his yajna at Nikumbhilā
temple. Except for him, the rest of his opponents had bought into his hoax
of killing Seetā. When Indrajeet saw Vibhishana inciting Lakshmana to
fight, he flared up and snapped at him, ‘You are born on this land. You have
grown up here. You are the brother of the king of this land. And being my
uncle, you are like a father to me. Why then are you being hostile to us?
Clearly, you have no love for your brethren, neither do you have any sense
of belonging to the community in which you grew up, nor do you
understand your responsibilities and duties. You are but a stigma on the
rākshasa clan.’
‘Giving up interests of your clan, you have accepted the slavery of the
enemy,’ continued Indrajeet. ‘What can be more reprehensible than this? A
kinsman without any qualities so to speak of, is way better than one who
may be very smart but doesn’t want to belong to one’s own community. A
traitor who aids the opponent in the destruction of his own people is,
without doubt, destroyed by the same opponent once the purpose is
achieved. Only a heartless man like you could have brought Lakshmana to
this place to kill his brother’s son.’10
Vibhishana had heard many aspersions being cast by Indrajeet on him
even earlier. He was not going to take his words lying down. ‘What are you
bragging about? Give up this unworthy condescension,’ Vibhishana
retorted. ‘Do you not know my virtues and character? Even though I have
been born in the community of rākshasas, my nature was never similar to
theirs. I have striven to live by values of noble human beings.
Unrighteousness has never appealed to my conscience. Even then, just
because natures don’t match, how can an elder brother disown his younger
brother like Rāvana did to me?’
‘It is anyway better to give up a person who has gone astray from the
path of dharma and be happy. One must cast away a person who indulges in
violating the wives of other men or in stealing the wealth of others, just like
one would cast away a house on fire. Three vices are said to destroy a
person—stealing other men’s wealth, eyeing other men’s wives and being
excessively suspicious of one’s well-wishers. Adding to these, my elder
brother is marred by arrogance, unrighteousness and tyranny. His vices
have overshadowed his otherwise lofty qualities. Hence, I left him. His end
is near. And so is yours. You are arrogant and rude, and also naïve. You’ll
face the consequences of all your insults to me today,’ said Vibhishana
sternly.11
The battle between Lakshmana and Indrajeet began. It was a fight of
equals. Vibhishana had orchestrated this fight, in a way. There were times
when he came close to fighting with Indrajeet himself. But he became
emotional and tears clouded his eyes. To the vānaras standing near him, he
said, ‘He is my brother’s son and thus mine too. While it is not right for me
to kill my nephew, I will do that if needed to help Rāma achieve his
purpose. But these tears don’t seem to stop. So Lakshmana alone will have
to defeat him.’12 Indrajeet had no such compunctions. He attacked and
injured Vibhishana before being challenged once again by Lakshmana.13
Eventually, Indrajeet met his end at Lakshmana’s hands, as Vibhishana had
desired and predicted.
Vibhishana and Rāvana came face-to-face on the battlefield in the last
days of the war. When Rāvana was fighting Rāma and Lakshmana,
Vibhishana intervened and killed the horses of his chariot. That was when
Rāvana’s eyes fell on Vibhishana. He did not indulge in any war of words.
Rāvana channelised all his pent-up anger into his weapons. He shot an
extremely powerful weapon at his younger brother. The ever-vigilant
Lakshmana countered the weapon with his own, saving Vibhishana. Rāvana
then used a deadlier weapon to try to kill Vibhishana. Once again, thanks to
Lakshmana’s intervention, Vibhishana was saved.14
Soon after that Rāvana was slain by Rāma.
The events occurred as Vibhishana had forewarned. Rāvana’s arrogance and
lust led to the complete destruction of Lankā. Nevertheless, when Rāvana
lay dead on the ground, Vibhishana broke down. He was upset with his
brother, but he had no hatred for him. It was not as if Rāvana did not have
any virtues. He had many. He was a generous and brave man. He had done
intense tapasyā. He had conducted numerous yajnas and given huge
charities. He had been a great friend to those he cared for and had taken
good care of the people of Lankā. It was just that, as Vibhishana told
Indrajeet, Rāvana’s vices overshadowed his virtues.
Vibhishana wanted to give a respectable cremation to Rāvana. He sought
Rāma’s permission. Rāma encouraged him to do everything in the best
possible manner, as ordained by the scriptures. ‘Enmity ends with death.
Our goal has been achieved. Now Rāvana is as dear to me as he is to you.
Please make all the necessary provisions and cremate him as he rightly
deserves,’ said Rāma.15
The mighty Rāvana’s body was consigned to the flames following all
rituals, in front of his wives and surviving citizens.
Vibhishana was then formally crowned the king of Lankā.
When Vibhishana went over to Rāma, he had no doubts that he was doing
the right thing. When he helped Rāma fight the war, providing all kinds of
intelligence and support, he was in no doubt about his objective, which was
to ensure Rāma won against Rāvana. While he felt bad having to cause his
nephew’s death, he was clear it had to be done. For his stand, Vibhishana
was branded a traitor by his nephew. Many others in Lankā may have also
felt the same way. The fact, of course, remains that Vibhishana defected to
the opposite side and helped the destruction of Lankā to take place.
Vibhishana understood clearly that dharma was on Rāma’s side. Rāvana,
on the other hand, had become an epitome of adharma. The choice for
Vibhishana was whether to continue to support adharma or stand solidly by
dharma. He chose the latter.
When Brahma deva offered to grant boons to Rāvana and Vibhishana
following their intense tapasyā in their younger days, Rāvana sought
immortality. But Vibhishana had a unique wish. He made a request of
Brahma deva:
‘Even in the worst of calamities, let my mind be always established in
dharma.’
‘You’ll never go astray from the path of dharma,’ Brahma deva said. It
was this insistence on dharma that directed Vibhishana towards Rāma.16
Loyalty and Dharma
Vibhishana’s choice wasn’t an easy one. It was between doing the right
thing versus standing behind his brother in trouble. It was between being
loyal to the family though it was on the side of adharma or choosing to be
disloyal but being on the side of dharma. His actions are often described
colloquially as —ghar ka bhedi Lankā dhāy—
which translates to ‘the spy from inside the house lead to the destruction
of Lankā’.
Vibhishana played an instrumental role in Rāma’s victory and Rāvana’s
destruction by sharing insider information about Lankā’s and busting the
war strategies of Indrajeet and other rākshasas. The criticism isn’t
misplaced.
Was it right for Vibhishana to abandon his brother in trouble,
notwithstanding that the problems were caused by his brother and his
unrighteous behaviour?
There is one other thing for which Vibhishana’s intent itself is
questioned—his willingness to be crowned the king of Lankā even before
the war began.
Vibhishana had foreseen Rāvana was heading towards destruction and
pushing Lankā towards devastation. In such a situation, was it really such
a bad idea to want to take the reigns of the kingdom in his own hands
once the war ended? Vibhishana belonged to the royal family after all.
Even if one were to consider tactically, it made sense for Vibhishana to
accept Rāma’s proposal to be crowned the king of Lankā. Most vānaras
were already suspicious of him. Vibhishana’s refusal would have only
made them more doubtful of his intentions.
Vibhishana had never proactively misguided Rāvana nor had he
colluded with Rāma to destabilise Rāvana until he was insulted by Rāvana
himself and asked to leave. Vibhishana had tried his best to persuade his
elder brother multiple times to act righteously in the interest of Lankā, in
vain.
Vidur had once told Dhritarashtra to give up Duryodhana for the sake
of dharma. He said:
Give up a son if it saves the family. Give up the family if it saves the village. Give up the
village to save the larger state. But to protect one’s ātmā, one’s virtues and value
systems, be ready to give up this earth as well.
Vibhishana lived by this advice.
Ψ
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14
Soumitri
Lakshmana was not happy at Rāma’s deference to his father’s order of
exile, giving in to Kaikeyi’s egregious demands. As a kshatriya, he
believed, Rāma should fight for his rightful claim to the throne. People in
Ayodhyā had given their consent to Rāma’s coronation. Lakshmana had
even suggested that for dharma, they should imprison Dasharatha, if such a
need arose. But Rāma was determined to obey his father. Nothing could
change his decision. Seetā too decided to accompany Rāma to the forest.
Lakshmana and Rāma were inseparable from their childhood days.
Lakshmana was always beside Rāma. He couldn’t have left his side in this
situation. He insisted on going with him. Rāma tried to dissuade him, but
Lakshmana was firm. ‘Let me come as your attendant, I will be obliged,’ he
pleaded earnestly and added, ‘I will walk ahead of you with my bow,
making the way. I will gather fruits and tubers for our food. When you and
Seetā sleep, I will stay awake and guard you.’ Rāma was pleased. ‘Seek
permission from all your near and dear ones and join me,’ he said.
The vanvās, for the most part, was a dream for Seetā. Rāma was with her
all the time. Rāma indulged her in every way possible. But Lakshmana had
a clear purpose laid out for him during the time, one that he had committed
himself to voluntarily—to serve Rāma and Seetā. He would stay awake
when Rāma and Seetā were asleep to protect them from the unknown
dangers of the forest. He would build āshrams for them to stay in whenever
they arrived in a new place. He would build boats with his hands when they
had to cross rivers. He would ensure they had food to eat and that Rāma
always had all the material he needed for his regular yajnas.
Lakshmana stood by Rāma, tackling every danger that came their way in
the forest, either fighting, as he did with Virādh and Kabandha, or
protecting Seetā from rākshasas when a need arose, as he did when Khara
and Dushana attacked them in Panchavati.
But more importantly, he played a role in Rāma’s life that no one else
could. Lakshmana was the only one apart from Seetā before whom Rāma
would bare his emotions. Lakshmana always knew exactly what Rāma
needed to hear and when. He held Rāma together in his weakest moments.
Rāma was stoic when all of them left Ayodhyā. People of Ayodhyā were
not. The city was in tears seeing their favourite prince leave. The news was
as much a shock for them as it was for Dasharatha. Some followed their
chariot, determined to accompany their prince in vanvās. The love of the
people of his kingdom had moved Rāma.
The first evening after leaving Ayodhyā, they stopped by the banks of
Tamasā. Rāma was mentally preparing himself for fourteen years away
from his motherland, but he was worried about his parents. He shared his
thoughts with Lakshmana, ‘I hope our father and my mother do not become
blind crying after us, unable to deal with the separation, though I am certain
Bharata will console them and take care of them. Thinking about Bharata
gives me some solace. He is a person of strong character.’
Then, looking approvingly he added, ‘Lakshmana, I am glad you have
come. You have helped me achieve my purpose by coming along, or else I
would have had to get help to protect Seetā in the jungle.’1
Driven by Sumantra, crossing Vedashruti, Gomati and Syandikā rivers,
they reached the outskirts of Shringaverpur, the city ruled by Rāma’s friend,
Guha. Determined not to enter any city for the next fourteen years, Rāma
refused Guha’s hospitality. Instead, he requested Guha to take care of the
horses pulling their chariot. Later that evening, Rāma and Seetā chose to
sleep on the ground, on a sheet of dry grass.
Lakshmana did not sleep that night. He and Guha stayed awake to
protect Rāma and Seetā. Guha requested Lakshmana to get some rest. He
had asked his men to prepare a comfortable bed for him. ‘I and my people
are used to the forest life. We will stay awake and protect Rāma,’ he said.
‘With you here Nishādarāj, we have no fear,’ Lakshmana replied.
‘However, when Rāma and Seetā are sleeping on the floor like this, how
can I use any kind of luxury? Just look how this brother of mine, who
otherwise is unassailable even by devas and asuras, sleeps peacefully on a
sheer sheet of dry grass.’ Overwhelmed at seeing his brother dressed in
valkal and sleeping on the ground, he continued. ‘It took innumerable
prayers and immense effort on the part of my father to obtain a son like
Rāma. There is no way he will be able to survive this separation from
Rāma. Neither he nor Kaushalyā Mā or my own mother will be able to bear
this shock of separation. Will we be able to return to Ayodhyā and meet our
parents ever again?’ he wondered, with a touch of melancholy in his voice.
Lakshmana’s pain brought tears to Guha’s eyes. Both of them sat talking all
through the night.2
It was after Shringaverpur that the real vanvās for Rāma, Lakshmana and
Seetā began. Rāma convinced Sumantra to return to Ayodhyā from
Shringaverpur and sent messages for everyone with him. His messages
were conciliatory. To his mother, he asked not to give up on his father and
have no ill-will against Kaikeyi. To Bharata, he requested to take care of his
mother like his own and be kind to their father.
Lakshmana made no such concessions. Sumantra told Dasharatha and
Kaushalyā on reaching Ayodhyā that Lakshmana was fuming. Lakshmana
had asked, ‘For what crime has Rāma been exiled? Whatever be the reason
for banishing Rāma, either Kaikeyi’s greed or the king’s eagerness to fulfil
the boons given to her or even destiny’s ordain, the decision itself is not
justifiable in any way. Hence, I am unable to conjure up any emotion of
affection towards my father, the king. Rāma is my everything—my friend,
my brother and my father.’3
After Sumantra returned to Ayodhyā, the three of them ventured into the
dense, uninhabited forest. Their first day was spent exploring the area.
Rāma and Lakshmana even hunted a few wild animals. As the day segued
into dusk, the three of them settled down under a tree. Having done their
sandhyopāsanā, Rāma and Lakshmana got talking.
Rāma had no doubts about accepting the vanvās. It was the right thing to
do. But Kaikeyi’s ill-will behind the demand and his father’s capitulation to
his favourite wife were not lost on him. On this first night away from any
janapada, the memories of the day of the coronation came rushing back to
Rāma. ‘Tonight, our father will be sleeping terribly pained, grieving my
departure. But Kaikeyi must be sleeping happy and contented. The king is
indulgent towards her and is completely under her sway. He is also quite
old and frail now. I hope Kaikeyi doesn’t take his life for the sake of the
kingdom once Bharata returns to Ayodhyā,’ Rāma confided his fear in
Lakshmana.4
Rāma continued to lament, ‘Observing this situation that has befallen us,
I have come to believe kāma is a lot more powerful than artha or dharma.
Else who will abandon an obedient son like me because he is infatuated by
a woman, as our father has? One who is so overpowered by lust that he
completely neglects all the aspects of artha and dharma, will certainly call
upon his doom, just like our father has. It appears to me that Kaikeyi has
come to Ayodhyā to take the king’s life, exile me and usurp the kingdom for
Bharata. I fear that revelling in her good fortune, Kaikeyi may harm our
mothers Kaushalyā and Sumitrā.’ Overcome with anxiety for his mothers,
he urged Lakshmana to return to Ayodhyā immediately.
The thoughts about his mothers led to a surge of bittersweet emotions in
Rāma’s heart. ‘Shame on me!’ he exclaimed, fighting back tears. ‘My
mother nourished me,’ he continued, ‘and took care of me with so much
love all these years. Now when it is my turn to take care of her, I have left
her all alone. May a noblewoman never give birth to a son like me who
brings so much grief to her. I think my mother’s pet bird gives her more
love than I have been able to. How unfortunate is my mother to beget a son
like me!’
Rāma continued, ‘It is not that I am not capable of fighting to get what I
want. If I wish, I can single-handedly win over Ayodhyā and all other
kingdoms on the face of the earth. But I do not wish to challenge my fate,
nor do I want to do anything unrighteous. That is why I refused the
coronation and accepted vanvās.’ While speaking, tears were flowing freely
down his cheeks. Having poured his heart out, Rāma became silent, like a
serene, waveless ocean.5
Lakshmana had opposed Rāma’s acceptance of vanvās. He was very
angry with his father and had minced no words about it. He had let his
disapproval of his father’s stance show even in the message he sent through
Sumantra. Yet, when he saw Rāma’s uncharacteristic mental agony, he
didn’t add his own to it. Worrying about the parents, Rāma had asked him
to reconsider his decision and return to Ayodhyā. But Lakshmana was
determined not to leave Rāma’s side, come what may.
He reminded Rāma of what he meant to him and Seetā. ‘Undoubtedly,
without you, Ayodhyā has lost all its sheen, like a night without a moon.
But it doesn’t suit you to mourn like this. Your agony is causing immense
pain to both Seetā and me. Neither of us can survive a second without you,
just like a fish cannot live without water. Without you, I do not desire to see
Shatrughna or even my own mother. I do not even desire the heavens
without you,’ he said earnestly.
Lakshmana’s sweet words touched Rāma’s heart. He decided to let
Lakshmana stay with him for the entire period of vanvās.6 Never again did
Rāma suggest to Lakshmana to return to Ayodhyā. For Lakshmana, even
the thought of that was non-existent anyway. Rāma was rarely flustered.
But whenever he was, he had Lakshmana as his pillar of support, standing
strong.
To the otherwise calm and composed Rāma, nothing troubled more than any
threat to Seetā and nothing caused him more distress than separation from
Seetā, even if it was momentary.
Their life in Dandakāranya had begun on one such note. A rākshasa
name Virādh, enamoured by Seetā’s beauty, attempted to take her away.
Rāma was distraught and his immediate reaction was to blame Kaikeyi for
the situation. Lakshmana stepped in and encouraged him to fight, ‘You
yourself are the protector of all beings, no less than the mighty Indra
himself. And I am here by your side. Wait and watch how I slay this
rākshasa, channelising all my anger towards him. Let the earth be drenched
by his blood today.’ All Rāma needed to hear were some words of support.
He got ready along with Lakshmana to kill Virādh.
The episode of the exquisite deer was one that tested Lakshmana’s
patience. Seetā’s accusations were too much for him to handle. He went to
look for Rāma as she demanded. Rāma wasn’t happy about Lakshmana’s
decision to leave Seetā alone in the āshram. Rāma reasoned that Seetā was
distressed hearing Māreecha’s imitation of his voice, but Lakshmana should
have known better. Lakshmana did not argue. He knew it was not the time
for talking about how Seetā had wrongly accused him. That subject was
never brought up again. The priority was to ensure Seetā’s welfare.
Rāma’s agony knew no bounds on learning about Seetā’s abduction.
Anything and everything would remind him of her. Her memory would
leave him anguished and in pain. The fragrance in the air, the flowing
stream, the rustling of leaves, the songs of birds—all of them made him
miss Seetā. The only person who kept him sane during this time was
Lakshmana. With immense patience, he would hear Rāma express his
agony and then console him with words of love, courage and resolve, as the
situation demanded. His words were comforting. They helped pull Rāma
out of his misery and move him to action.
On one such occasion, Rāma was pining for Seetā so much that he did
not wish to live anymore without her. To cheer him up, Lakshmana
reminded Rāma of the importance of zeal and perseverance to achieve one’s
goals. He said, ‘O prince, give up such pitiable thoughts and maintain
composure. Without making efforts, we will not be able to regain what we
have lost. In perseverance lies great strength. For the one who is willing to
put in the effort, nothing is unattainable. Perseverant men will not be
disheartened when they commit themselves to a task. We will definitely get
Seetā back through our incessant efforts.’7
Rāma rarely lost his cool apart on a few occasions when he was fighting
the war. ‘But when he did become angry, even the devas would be afraid,’
Nārada Muni had said. Once Rāma became furious when, despite their
earnest pleas, Varun deva refused to budge and show them the way to
Lankā. Even after three nights of waiting upon Varun deva, when he did not
show up, Rāma’s eyes began to turn red. He turned to Lakshmana and said
in a tone manifestly angry, ‘This is the arrogance of the lord of the ocean to
not show up despite our genuine prayers. It is true that forgiveness,
straightforwardness and sweet words have no impact on those who are
without any virtue.’
He added, ‘There is no glory or victory to be gained through such
pleadings. Now you wait and watch how my arrow makes the ocean
completely dry and shatters to pieces the large crocodiles and other animals
residing in the ocean. Once I dry the ocean our army can cross over to
Lankā on foot. Varun deva has taken me for granted. He probably thinks I
am incapable of such action. Now he will see for himself what I can do.’
Rāma roared and shot an arrow, causing shock waves in the ocean and
striking dread in the hearts of the creatures in the ocean as well as on land.
Lakshmana rushed to calm Rāma down before he brought about any
major destruction. ‘Not any more, not any more,’ he said as he held Rāma’s
bow. ‘Do not give in to rage, we can have our task accomplished even
without causing the destruction of the ocean. Think calmly of another noble
alternative,’ Lakshmana pleaded. Rāma steadied himself. He did not shoot
the second arrow that he had readied on his bow but continued to threaten
Varun deva with dire consequences till Varun deva finally appeared and
apologised profusely.
However, as the arrow was already out of the quiver and ready to be
shot, it couldn’t be put back or wasted. Hence, on Varun deva’s request,
Rāma shot it towards the north, targeting a place called Drumakulya,
creating a famous desert called ‘Maru’.8
Thus, Lakshmana saved not just Varun deva from complete annihilation
but also secured the welfare of future generations through the continuation
of the oceans.9
It was not that Rāma couldn’t manage his emotions. But even the strongest
of people have their weak moments which manifest usually in front of those
they value and trust. Lakshmana was that person for Rāma—no one else
came close, apart from Seetā.
How well Lakshmana understood Rāma and how subtly and effectively
he could use his words to have an impact on him was evident in Lankā
when Indrajeet’s illusion convinced everyone that he had killed Seetā.
Rāma was despondent. The hope of reuniting with Seetā had kept him
going all these months. He had left no stone unturned in the quest to find
the love of his life, coming all the way to Lankā, only to be told that Seetā
had been mercilessly slain by Indrajeet. Rāma was beyond any consolation.
He was slipping into bouts of unconsciousness.
No words of solace can console a man who has just heard of the death of
his beloved in the most unjust manner. Lakshmana understood that well. He
did not offer any such comfort to Rāma. Instead, he gave vent to the most
natural thoughts that arise in a man’s heart in such a tragic situation. He
said, ‘It seems to me that all the virtues that you have steadfastly held all
these years are quite useless. They have been unable to protect you from
these adversities. Dharma is non-existent, as I see. If that were not the case,
Rāvana should have been in hell by now for all his unrighteous acts, and
someone like you, who has never gone astray from dharma, wouldn’t have
been subjected to this misery. There appears to be no connection between
virtue and vice and their consequences. Or is it that even virtue, when faced
with might, surrenders to power? I think it is better to not practise such
powerless and ineffective virtues. Better to resort to raw might instead of
this subservient virtue.’
Lakshmana continued his diatribe, ‘If we believe that abiding by truth is
dharma, then we have failed on that front too. Our father Dasharatha
falsified his promise of your coronation to the people of Ayodhyā. Weren’t
you bound by that truth too?10 I believe dharma was compromised that day
when you chose to give up the kingdom and its wealth to follow our father’s
orders. A man with wealth is respected by everyone. Therefore, your
decision to abandon your rightful wealth and kingdom was not quite
desirable either. Even dharma can be achieved only when one has means.’
Lakshmana was trying to provoke Rāma.
‘You came to the forest giving up the kingdom to keep our father’s word.
And here this rākshasa abducted your wife and inflicted colossal pain on
you. How can you take it lying down? I will surely not. I will get rid of this
grief thrust on us by Indrajeet by my might. You must also take control of
yourself and get ready to face the challenge. See yourself for what you
really are.’11
Soon after that Vibhishana came and informed them of Indrajeet’s
trickery, bringing relief to Rāma, Lakshmana and the vānaras.
Lakshmana was an able partner of Rāma in every adventure of his since
they were young boys. He was an outstanding warrior in his own right as
well. In Lankā, he left the enemy floundering on multiple occasions. He
slew many a mighty rākshasa, including Virupāksha and Atikāya. But his
greatest feat was reserved for Indrajeet.
Vibhishana had divulged Indrajeet’s plan of completing the yajna, which
had the potential of making him invincible, at Nikumbhilā temple.
Lakshmana had to kill Indrajeet before he could finish the yajna. Indrajeet
was no ordinary warrior. This son of Rāvana was born Meghanād. He was
popularly known by his sobriquet Indrajeet, the vanquisher of Indra,
because he had defeated and captured Indra in a war with the devas. He had
freed Indra only at Brahma deva’s request.
The war between Indrajeet and Lakshmana was not for the faint-hearted.
They were both courageous warriors, full of energy, and fearless. They were
matched well in power and energy. They fought like two mighty lions on
the battlefield. Their bodies were severely injured by each other’s arrows,
but they continued to duel, each trying to overpower the other with weapons
and skills. Their bleeding bodies shone like Palāsh trees in full blossom.12
The crescendo of the sounds created by the strings of their bows and the
booms of the celestial weapons kept increasing with each passing moment.
They fought non-stop for three days and three nights. Finally, Lakshmana
killed Indrajeet using the Aindrāstra, severing his head from his neck.
Hanumāna and Vibhishana also had a role to play in the battle, but the
attack was led and sustained by Lakshmana.
Rāma was joyous and proud of Lakshmana’s achievement. He hugged
Lakshmana tightly and even made him sit on his lap.
The defeat of Indrajeet was a breakthrough in the war with Rāvana. He
was Rāvana’s trump card, one who was to secure a decisive victory for him.
Indrajeet had managed to torment the vānaras on multiple occasions before
in the war and had even caused Rāma and Lakshmana to become
unconscious twice. His death announced, loud and clear, that Rāvana’s end
was near.
Sometime later, after Rāma’s coronation, a few rishis came to see him in
Ayodhyā. They got talking about the war when one rishi mentioned that the
fight between Lakshmana and Indrajeet was one of the highlights of the
battle because Indrajeet was the strongest and the most skilled warrior in
Rāvana’s army, probably better than Rāvana himself. Everyone agreed.13
Lakshmana’s reverence of Rāma was reciprocated in equal measure by
Rāma’s affection for him. Lakshmana and Seetā meant more to Rāma than
even his own life.
Injuries are unavoidable on the battlefield. They are often worn as a
badge of honour. There was one instance when Rāvana’s shakti had pierced
through Lakshmana’s chest, making him unconscious. Seeing his dear
brother in such a state made Rāma extremely agitated. He channelised his
agitation into an unbearable force with the arrows he shot at Rāvana,
making him leave the battlefield.
After Rāvana was pulled away by his sārthi, Rāma returned to find
Lakshmana still unconscious. He couldn’t hold back his tears anymore.
‘What will I do with this life, all its pleasures, this victory or even the
kingdom of Ayodhyā if Lakshmana were to die here like this? How will I
ever find another brother like Lakshmana? He walked behind me as I left
Ayodhyā for vanvās. Now I will follow him to the world of Yama. Every
time I was overcome with grief in the forest, he was the one to hold me
together. And now look at him, he doesn’t even talk to me,’ he lamented as
the vānaras looked on helplessly.
Once again, Hanumāna came to the rescue. He brought herbs from the
Himālayas and using them, Sushena resurrected Lakshmana.
On returning to Ayodhyā, Rāma decided to declare Lakshmana as the
crown prince of Ayodhyā. But Lakshmana refused the position. Titles and
authority weren’t for him. His purpose in life was to serve Rāma. A title
would come in the way of his service. He didn’t want that. He happily let
Bharata become the crown prince.
Before leaving for vanvās, Lakshmana sought blessings from his mother
Sumitrā. Sumitrā didn’t lament, and neither did she plead with Lakshmana
not to go. Rather, she was proud of the decision her son had made of
accompanying his elder brother voluntarily. She gave Lakshmana an
important advice that day. ‘See your father in Rāma, see me in Seetā and
think of the forest itself as Ayodhyā. Serve them earnestly, as a son should,’
she had said.14
This son of Sumitrā lived true to his mother’s advice, every moment of
his life.
In some popular depictions of the Rāmāyana, Lakshmana is shown to be
an angry young man who is ready to unleash his anger at the slightest
provocation.
In Vālmiki Rāmāyana, as we see, Lakshmana is a lot more mature and
composed. In fact, whenever Rāma lost his cool, Lakshmana was the one
to calm him down.
There is a well-known story often narrated about Lakshmana’s wife,
Urmilā. It is said she made a promise to Lakshmana that she will sleep
through the fourteen years of vanvās, accepting his share of sleep as well,
so that Lakshmana could stay awake and serve Rāma and Seetā every
single moment he was with them in the forest. This story does not appear
in Vālmiki Rāmāyana. In Vālmiki Rāmāyana, there is no mention of
Urmilā’s life during the fourteen years of Rāma’s vanvās.
Ψ
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What was Rāma like? What was it about Rāma that everyone—young and
old, women and men—showered their love on him? His citizens, his gurus,
his friends like Nishādarāj Guha, the rishis he met during vanvās and the
vānaras he met later in life, all came to adore him, nay, even lay down their
lives willingly for him. What was Rāma’s appeal to such a diverse set of
people?
The narration of the Rāmāyana begins with a conversation between Rishi
Vālmiki and Devarishi Nārada. Rishi Vālmiki wanted to know if there was
anyone in their times who possessed all the sixteen qualities desirable in a
man but rarely found together—virtue, valour, dharma, gratitude, fortitude,
firm determination, strong character, good looks, predisposition to the well-
being of all creatures, resplendence, erudition, capability, control on anger,
justified anger when needed, composure and non-jealousy.
Nārada Muni knew one person who fitted the requirement perfectly—
Rāma, the celebrated king of Kosala desh. He then proceeded to give an
even more elaborate account of Rāma, describing his personality, his
physique and his qualities. The description, tabulated here, is vivid enough
to allow the reader to picturise Rāma.
Attributes of Rāma
Physical attributes:
—broad-shouldered —large and
beautiful forehead
—strong-armed —well-
proportioned limbs
—conch-shaped neck —radiant
complexion
—prominent and strong cheeks —mighty
and powerful
—broad-chested —strong, well-
developed chest
—armed with a great bow (having —large,
a body strong enough to carry a bow) expansive eyes
—fleshy collar bones —lustrous
body and personality
—long-armed, with arms
reaching the knees
—having
auspicious features
—well-proportioned head —pleasant
looking
Rishi Vālmiki refers to Rāma as , one who is dark-complexioned.
Personality attributes:
—steady-natured —understands nuances of
dharma
—valiant and powerful —man of virtue
—dignified —true to his words
—steadfast —omniscient
—in control of his senses —pure and devout
—intelligent —obedient to elders
—learned in statecraft —committed
to the welfare of people
—proficient in speech —
protector of his dharma
—attentive and
focused
—protector of
his subjects and allies
—highly retentive
memory
—beloved of all
:—skilled
in archery and warfare
—undaunted and
cheerful
:
—learned in scriptures
—always
approachable
—endowed with
presence of mind
—equitably disposed
towards all
‘Rāma is profound and calm as the ocean and steadfast as the Himalayas.
He is as powerful as Vishnu, as good looking as the moon, as fiery as death
when angry, as forgiving as the earth, as generous as Kuber and as truthful
as Dharma1 himself,’ said Nārada, summing up Rāma’s qualities.2
Rāma, the Warrior
Rāma, as we are told in Vālmiki Rāmāyana, is exceptionally strong and an
extraordinary warrior. His strength is abundantly evident in the epic. He
was not even sixteen when he guarded the yajna of Vishvāmitra and got rid
of the menace of Māreecha and Subāhu, and Tātaka before them.
Immediately after that, he lifted the bow of Shiva in Mithilā, which even
5,000 young men found difficult to drag. When Parashurāma heard of this
parākram of Rāma, he wasn’t amused. He viewed Rāma’s breaking of
Shiva’s bow as an affront to the devas. As the entourage of the newly-
married couples headed to Ayodhyā, Parashurāma stopped them and
challenged Rāma to string Vishnu’s bow. ‘If you have it in you, string this
bow of Vishnu,’ he roared.
Parashurāma was a veteran and greatly feared figure. He had rendered
the earth devoid of warriors twenty-one times, it was believed. When he
came to meet Rāma, the latter was only a young boy, recently married,
returning home with his new bride. But in addition to having physical
strength, he was intuitively wise and endowed with the power of excellent
speech.
Parashurāma’s anger was coming from a position of arrogance and
condescension. Rāma had to make Parashurāma understand that his feat of
lifting and breaking the Shiva Dhanush wasn’t a stroke of luck. Nor was it
an attempt at challenging the authority of any deva. He put forth his
position politely but forcefully, mincing no words, ‘I am aware of your
achievements and respect your exploits. But do not treat me as a weakling. I
am endowed with all qualities of a warrior. Watch me perform my feat right
in front of you.’ Saying this, he took the mighty dhanush from
Parashurāma’s hands, strung the bow and placed his arrow on the bow,
ready to shoot.
It was an incredible act. The great Parashurāma had met his match.3
Rāma’s exemplary skills in warfare were exhibited during their stay in
Dandakāranya as well. They spent more than eleven years in the region
during which Rāma and Lakshmana killed innumerable, menace-creating
rākshasas to safeguard the rishis and the forest dwellers. In the battle with
Khara and Dushana in Panchavati, Rāma single-handedly killed 14,000
rākshasa warriors in one day.
His strength was evident in the feats he performed to convince Sugreeva
that he was more than capable of killing Vāli, and he eventually killed Vāli
with only a single arrow.
Throughout the war in Lankā, including the last major battle with
Rāvana, which Rishi Vālmiki calls ‘
—one without a parallel’, Rāma showed his domination
every time he stepped on the battlefield. Besides Rāvana, Kumbhakarna and
Makarāksha also fell to his arrows.
Kumbhakarna was an unrestrained force of nature. All of Rāma’s major
commanders tried in vain to fight and subdue him. Kumbhakarna was on a
rampage, devouring the vānaras he captured, licking their blood off his lips.
Even Sugreeva barely escaped being captured by him. Rāma was angry
seeing this devastation caused by Kumbhakarna. He gave his bow a loud
twang, announcing his intention of taking the colossal giant head-on.
Kumbhakarna was so strong that even the powerful arrow which Rāma
used to kill Vāli was ineffective on him. The giant rākshasa seemed to just
suck in the arrows shot by Rāma into his body, completely unaffected, even
as he continued to wield his blood-smeared mudgar, chasing away the
vānaras. Subsequently, Rāma brought out a potent weapon called Vyāvaya.
This had the desired effect—it severed Kumbhakarna’s arm that was
holding the mudgar. But the rākshasa still didn’t give up. He uprooted a tree
with his other hand and continued his attack. Using another powerful arrow,
Rāma chopped off his other arm too. Then with two back-to-back arrows,
he chopped Kumbhakarna’s lower limbs. His next arrow severed
Kumbhakarna’s head. The momentum was such that the head travelled all
the way to the ocean and fell there.4
Makarāksha was another powerful rākshasa commander of Rāvana. He
had a strong desire for vengeance as Rāma had killed his father, Khara. He
challenged Rāma to a duel. ‘Since the day you killed my father in Dandaka,
I have been roaming the forests, burning with the desire to kill you. I will
devour you like a lion devours his prey. Pick up whichever weapon you
have learnt. I will fight you with that,’ he said.
Rāma laughed at him. ‘Why are you bragging?’ he asked. You cannot
fight a battle with words alone. Do not forget, that day in Dandaka I killed
not just your father Khara and uncle Dushana, but 14,000 rākshasas as well,
single-handedly. And today, I will satisfy the jackals and the vultures with
your flesh.’
A fierce battle ensued. The twangs of their bows resounded through the
battleground like repeated rolls of thunder. Makarāksha was quite a warrior.
He matched Rāma’s pace in shooting arrows. Together, they shot so many
arrows that, Rishi Vālmiki tells us, the entire earth seemed to be covered
with a veil of their arrows. Rāma started getting angry. He aimed at
Makarāksha’s bow and broke it. Then in quick succession, he killed
Makarāksha’s chariot horses and broke his chariot, grounding the rākshasa.
The fight continued as Makarāksha employed other weapons and
techniques to get back into the battle. But he couldn’t and subsequently fell
to Rāma’s Pātakāstra, the weapon of fire, his heart torn apart.5
The sheer magic of Rāma’s dexterity was once again on full display in
all its majesty the day after Indrajeet’s death. Rāvana sent some of his
commanders to the battlefield with instructions to gherao Rāma specifically,
and kill him. The commanders marched into the battlefield with their
armies. A furious battle waged between them and the vānaras. Seeing the
vānara side taking a toll, Rāma jumped in with his illustrious bow and
began showering a volley of arrows at the rākshasas. He entered among his
opponents and began to burn them with his fiery arrows, like the sun which
appears in the sky and slashes the sheath of clouds.
The force of Rāma’s arrows was so strong and his actions so swift that
the rākshasas could see themselves getting hit and injured but couldn’t spot
where Rāma was, just like a strong gush of wind that uproots huge trees but
remains unseen. Like a man deluded by sensual pleasures cannot identify
the ātmā seated in the body, the rākshasa army couldn’t see Rāma. All they
could see was the devastation he was inflicting on them on the battlefield.
The soldiers spoke among themselves, befuddled. ‘O there you see
Rāma, destroying the army of elephants. O no, he is over there, laying
waste the fleet of chariots with his sharp arrows. O no, Rāma is somewhere
here, killing our soldiers and their horses,’ they exclaimed, trying to make
sense of the situation. They were so confused that they even began
attacking and killing warriors from their own side.
Sometimes they could see where Rāma was, at other times, they felt as if
they were seeing thousands of Rāmas raining their ire on them. So swift
were Rāma’s manoeuvres, that while he was unseen, the outer edge of his
golden bow seemed like a swiftly rotating band of fire. To the rākshasas
falling to Rāma’s assault, it appeared no less than a kāla chakra—the wheel
of destruction.
That day, within a span of about three hours, Rāma destroyed 10,000
chariots, 18,000 elephants, 14,000 horses and horse warriors, and 200,000
rākshasa soldiers.6
Such was the valour and prowess of Rāma.
Shri Krishna makes a reference to Rāma’s extraordinary warfare skills in
the Srimad Bhagavad Geetā. In ‘Vibhuti Yoga’ in the tenth chapter,
Krishna exhorts Arjuna to see divinity in what is most excellent and
glorious. To explain ‘most excellent and glorious’, he gives many
examples of things and people which are the ‘best among the best’. In one
of the verses, Krishna talks about Rāma. He says, ‘
’—among the warriors wielding weapons, I am
Rāma. Rāma was indeed one of the best warriors to have ever walked on
earth.7
Rāma, the Son
Dasharatha’s heart lived in Rāma. Kaushalyā’s joy was Rāma. Kaikeyi was
excessively fond of Rāma, as were all the men and women in the kingdom.
Dasharatha had once told Kaikeyi about his eldest son, ‘Rāma wins
everyone over by his virtues. He soothes the poor and needy by offering
timely help and charity. He wins the hearts of elders and teachers through
his devotion and service. And the enemy, he conquers by the strength of his
bow.’8
When Kaikeyi told Rāma of vanvās, he wasn’t perturbed—not overtly at
least. It took him no time to decide his path of action, which was to accept
the commands of his father and stepmother. Any other decision would have
been incorrect. His father’s words were for him to obey. Rāma knew his
father couldn’t possibly have lived happily if his promise to Kaikeyi was
falsified.
While Rāma had immense reverence for his father and mothers, he was
not blind to the complexities and layers of their personalities. He was an
astute judge of people after all, as the citizens of Ayodhyā had rightly
observed. It wasn’t lost on him that his father, who was otherwise a great
king and much loved, had a weakness for Kaikeyi. Dasharatha’s desire for
her had led him to ignore his other wives. Though his heart was filled with
pain, Dasharatha couldn’t bring himself to deny Kaikeyi’s unjustified
demands, despite the fact that the decision of coronation was according to
the family tradition of anointing the eldest son. Besides, it also had the
backing of the people of Ayodhyā. Rāma had shared his thoughts about his
father with Lakshmana during the early days of their vanvās.
Nonetheless, that did not diminish the stature of his father, or his
stepmother, in his eyes. He revered them as an ideal son should. Rather,
Rāma said that Kaikeyi’s ill-will towards him was uncharacteristic of her.
Whatever may be her equation with Dasharatha’s other wives, she had
always loved Rāma like her own son. The way the situation had shaped
indicated the work of destiny at play. Rāma chose to willingly surrender to
the larger design of nature. This action of his was just another instance of
his profound understanding of context, time and place and how to use them
all together to take his decisions.
That is why Rāma requested Bharata also that he should not hold any
grudge against Kaikeyi. After the victory in Lankā, when his father came
down from the heavens to bless him, Rāma asked him as well to forgive
Kaikeyi.
There was only one regret that Rāma had having accepted the vanvās—
not being able to fulfil his duties towards his mother, Kaushalyā.
But he ensured he did whatever he could for his mother. When giving
away his wealth before leaving Ayodhyā to the people in his service and
patronage, Rāma did not miss giving gifts to people in Kaushalyā’s service
and patronage too. He wanted to ensure they took care of her in his absence.
At every opportunity Rāma made it a point to remind Bharata to take care
of Kaushalyā like his own mother.
Putra is the word used for a son in Sanskrit. It means one who saves his
father from falling into hell named put9. Rāma not only saved his father but
also brought lasting glory to his entire lineage.
Rāma, the Husband
The war in Lankā had ended with Rāvana’s death and Rāma’s victory. This
was the moment both Rāma and Seetā were waiting for. But the way the
events unfolded when they met after months of separation was a tragic
irony. Rāma’s words casting doubts on her chastity were so stinging that
Seetā herself asked for a pyre to be lit. It was beneath her dignity to argue
about the accusations using mere words. She left it to Agni deva to prove to
all what her true character was.
This incident leaves a bitter taste among many readers of Vālmiki
Rāmāyana who do not take kindly to Rāma’s words. But to judge either
Rāma or Seetā based on any one event will be unfair to the bond they
shared.
Every second of their separation had been torture for both Rāma and
Seetā. How many times had Rāma expressed to Seetā that she meant more
to him than his own life! How many times had he exclaimed that without
Seetā even heaven would give him no joy!
To accompany Rāma to the forest was Seetā’s decision. She earnestly
made her case to go along with Rāma. Living without Seetā wasn’t
something Rāma preferred, either. But he didn’t wish to force it upon Seetā.
As he confessed to her, it was important for him to know what her opinion
on the matter was. Life in the forest was not going to be easy. Seetā had to
know that and desire that. It would have been unfair on his part to push her
into it if she wasn’t ready. At the same time, he was delighted when Seetā
insisted on accompanying him.
Rāma’s love for Seetā was very deep. He couldn’t bear seeing her in the
smallest pain. He shot a Brahmāstra on a mere crow for hurting her. He
killed Virādh for attempting to kidnap her. He commanded Lakshmana to
punish Shurpanakhā because she tried to harm Seetā. The consequence of
this was an attack by 14,000 rākshasas led by Khara and Dushana. Rāma
tackled and killed them, all by himself.
Rāma went to catch the deer only because it would make Seetā happy.
Since her abduction, Rāma’s mind was never at peace. He missed her more
and more, every passing day. Hanumāna was correct when he told Seetā
that sleep had evaded Rāma all those months because his mind was busy
thinking about her. Rāma missed her sorely. He missed her sleeping by his
side using his muscular arm as her pillow. Every memory of her caused him
to break down. He cried like a child. He threatened to devastate the world if
Seetā was not found.
For her, he achieved the impossible—he crossed a hundred yojanas
across the ocean, entered Lankā and killed the mighty Rāvana in his own
home ground with just an army of vānaras. And yet, when they met, here he
was, telling Seetā she was free to go wherever she wished, only to provoke
her for agni parikshā. This wasn’t a mere whim. It was extremely important
for him to ensure no one casted aspersions on Seetā about her conduct as
Rāvana’s captive. That was Seetā’s concern too—that no one should think
lowly of Rāma because of her. Hence, she stayed in Lankā till Rāma came
for her and did not leave with Hanumāna although that would have set her
free earlier.
For both Rāma and Seetā, the reputation of the other mattered more than
their own pain. Seetā understood well—that he did everything due to his
concern for her reputation. That is why when Rāma said in all sincerity that
he did not have even an iota of doubt about her character but had to ensure
everyone else understood that unequivocally, she trusted him completely
and accepted him unconditionally like she always had.
In a society where polygamy was not only allowed but also preferred,
especially for kings, Rāma chose monogamy. That underlines his love for
Seetā and the depth of the bond they shared.
Rāma, the King
In Ayodhyā Kānda, Rishi Vālmiki enumerates the personality traits of
Rāma. These were the qualities of Rāma that made Dasharatha think about
him as a suitable heir to the throne after him. Some of the adjectives the
rishi uses are as follows:10
—
Eloquent strategist and speaker
like Brihaspati
:—One who knew
how to impactfully use (display of)
anger and pleasure
—One who
understood the context of place
and time
—One who
understood when to let go and when to
show restraint
—One who
could gauge the potential of
people
—One who was
well aware of flaws of self and others
—A good
negotiator with different parties
—One who was perceptive
enough to judiciously protect and
punish, as required
:
—One who did not let his
emotions show and could keep his
thoughts and decisions to himself
One who knew the right means of
raising revenue and spending money in
the prescribed manner
—One who
understood art as well as modes of
entertainment
—One
who had deep understanding of
interplay of dharma, kāma and artha
When Dasharatha called his assembly to deliberate the suitability of Rāma
to ascend the throne of Ayodhyā after him, he asked his ministers to share
why they believed, if they believed, that Rāma could do justice to the
position. Among other things, the ministers, in support of Rāma, used some
very interesting phrases to describe Rāma’s qualities that made him suitable
for the high position. The broader message is captured in the chapter ‘A
Twist of Fate’. The adjectives are as follows:11
—One who
has achieved control over his
senses and desires
:—Soft-spoken
:—One with a
steady mind
—One who knows how to
blend both dharma and artha effectively
for the best impact
—One
who doesn’t return without a
victory (always victorious)
—He asks about the well-
being of the citizens and their family
:—He
becomes concerned when
someone is in a problem
—Participates and shares
their (of citizens) joy in happy occasions
as a father does
—One
who always smiles as he speaks
—One who serves elders
:—
One who understands how to
govern
—One who is
not afflicted by rage
—His anger
and favour are not without a
purpose
—He
rightfully kills (punishes) those who
deserve to be slain
As an astute judge of people, Rāma made an accurate assessment of
Hanumāna in their first meeting itself. The same trait helped him develop a
deep bond of friendship with Sugreeva, even though Vāli could have been a
more powerful ally. Even when Sugreeva wanted to put him through a test
to assess whether he was capable of killing Vāli, Rāma happily went along.
He understood the context and the need of the situation, as well as
Sugreeva’s concerns—it was an indication of Sugreeva’s prudence.
His strategic thinking was evident in his decision of inducting
Vibhishana to their side and immediately crowning him the king of Lankā.
Rāma’s anger also had a strategic intent. He knew where to show anger
and how to channelise it. He used anger as his source of strength to rout the
enemy on the battlefield. His anger was cause-oriented and ended once the
objective was achieved. This applied even to an enemy like Rāvana. That is
why, once the war was over, he encouraged Vibhishana to give Rāvana the
cremation according to his status as a king.
Individual instances apart, the culmination of Rāma’s acumen as a king was in the
establishment of Rāma Rājya.
It was not that Rāma was devoid of human emotions. It was not that he
wasn’t overcome with longing, sorrow, anger, grief, love or pain. Nor was
he averse to expressing his emotions. Quite the contrary, he experienced all
these emotions deeply and opened his heart fully. Rishi Vālmiki has spared
no words to describe the delicate emotions of romance that Rāma and Seetā
shared, both in Ayodhyā and during vanvās. When the entourage was
returning to Ayodhyā from Lankā in Vibhishana’s Pushpak vimān, Rāma
made Seetā sit in his lap. Seetā blushed but happily complied. Throughout
the journey, he pointed out to her the different places he had been to look
for her when she was in Lankā. Similarly, the emotions that Rāma
experienced during his separation from Seetā, as the rishi has described,
were so intense that they can move the toughest of us into tears.
But there was one thing that stood him apart—the play of emotions did
not overpower him and make him take rash or impulsive actions. He never
lost sight of the role he was expected to play at that point in time.
Objectivity was never sacrificed at the altar of impulses. The bigger picture
was never lost sight of for short-term gratifications.
With Rāma, every emotion had a purpose. His emotions made him more
empathetic and more accepting of others.
He could have chosen to rebel and not agree to vanvās. Probably, people
in Ayodhyā would have stood by him given their love for him. He could
have rejected the unfair demands of Kaikeyi. But he didn’t.
He could have returned to Ayodhyā after Dasharatha’s death. Bharata,
Rishi Vashishtha, Rishi Jābāli, people of Ayodhyā—all of them wanted him
to return. But Rāma didn’t. Not because of some rigid stubbornness but
because he was acutely aware that it would be setting the wrong precedence
for the citizens by compromising the sanctity of relations, contracts and
commitments.
Even in vanvās, Rāma never forgot his role as a representative of the
royal family that had the allegiance of all the janapadas of Bhāratavarsha.
He was aware that it was his dharma to safeguard the people dwelling in the
forests. Hence, he readily agreed to protect the rishis and forest dwellers
from the menace of the rākshasas, despite Seetā’s initial misgivings.
After Vibhishana was made the king, he wanted to offer gifts to Rāma.
Rāma declined them. He requested Vibhishana to give the jewels and gems
to the vānaras who had put their life at stake for his victory. They deserved
the gifts more than him. Their actions were selfless, done only to help him.
His profound understanding of dharma and social constructs made him
answer Vāli’s stinging criticism with conviction and a sense of
responsibility. As much as he was generous and kind, he was not averse to
punishing those who deserved to be punished.
People of Ayodhyā rightly called him —one who
understood the context of place and time. Nārada called him —
one who understands the nuances of dharma. But the phrase used by
Māreecha defines Rāma’s personality in totality. Māreecha, while
describing Rāma to Rāvana, had said ‘ —
Rāma is the embodiment of dharma’. Not only did Rāma understand
dharma but he also embodied dharma. It pervaded his entire being.
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Rāma’s Rājya
Rāma received his first practical lesson in Rāja Dharma from Rishi
Vishvāmitra, en route to Siddhāshram. Rishi Vishvāmitra had said:
:
A just king should not shirk from performing any action, even action which
appears cruel or apparently criminal and objectionable if that contributes to
—welfare and protection of his people. This, indeed, is the
eternal dharma of those who are appointed to bear the burden of ruling a
kingdom.1
Rāma remained true to this lesson all his life—social welfare before self
—even if it came at the cost of personal sacrifices. This was the premise of
Rāma Rājya.
A brief description of Rāma Rājya comes twice in the Rāmāyana. The first
instance is in Bāla Kānda, and is narrated by Nārada Muni; the second time
it appears is towards the end of the book, in Yuddha Kānda, after Rāma’s
coronation.
Nārada Muni tells us, ‘The people in Rāma’s kingdom were joyous,
content, healthy and righteous. There was no fear of hunger or robbery. The
state itself was prosperous, overflowing with grains and food.’2
Rishi Vālmiki confirms that in Rāma’s kingdom, people were happy,
virtuous, healthy and without any grief. They lived a contented life,
engaged in their affairs in a righteous manner. All people practised their
professions, fulfilling their responsibilities dutifully. With their minds
focused on Rāma, the communities co-existed peacefully, without any
strife.3 In Rāma’s reign, there were neither floods nor famines. People lived
their full lives.
What does it take to create such an affluent, righteous and contented
nation-state which is in complete harmony with nature and its
surroundings?
Rishi Chanakya states in a mantra in Arthashāstra:
| : |
|
A happy society rests on dharma. Upholding dharma rests on wealth. Wealth creation
depends on governance (state).
Such a happy, prosperous, virtuous, just, inclusive and peaceful society
can only exist when the state has some necessary characteristics. These
are:
✦ The state has governance systems tuned to the needs and aspirations of its people.
✦ The state provides enough wealth creation opportunities to everyone.
✦ There is a correct balance between rights and responsibilities, regulations and individual
freedom, that allows everyone to not just survive but grow and thrive while maintaining order
in the society.
✦ There are effective and timely justice dispensation mechanisms.
✦ The administration is focused on the welfare of every part of the society equally, without
exploiting any segment.
✦ The state preserves its natural resources and respects the laws of nature. In such a state nature,
too, remains bountiful.
In essence, Rāma Rājya was a perfect, well-governed state owing to Rāma’s administrative
acumen and keen understanding of dharma.
When Bharata came to Chitrakoot to request him to return to Ayodhyā,
Rāma, unaware of the latest developments, began asking Bharata about the
affairs of the kingdom by way of questions, covering a range of topics.4 An
account of the conversation between Rāma and Bharata is summarised here.
It gives a good insight into how Rāma would have managed the affairs of
the state during his reign.
Minister Appointment, Decision-Making and Project Management
✦ Apt counsel by trustworthy experts and well-learned ministers is pivotal
to a king’s success. Hence, the appointment of able ministers with the
right skills-set for the right kind of jobs is a very important task for the
king.
✦ Some qualities to look for in the ministers and officers are—those who
the king can get along with, are courageous, have the expertise (in their
fields), have self-control, come from good families, are perceptive, are
incorruptible and are full of integrity.
✦ Governance related decisions should not be taken in isolation, nor should
they be discussed with everybody. Such decisions should typically
involve 3–4 persons who understand the topic and can maintain
confidentiality.
✦ Decisions and discussions of national interest taken by the king along
with his group of ministers should not be made public intentionally or
unintentionally, without consent.
✦ While appointing ambassadors for other kingdoms, the king must ensure
the person’s loyalty lies fully with his kingdom. The messenger should
be erudite and articulate; he should have been born in the same kingdom
as the king.
✦ Before initiating projects, a king must determine tasks that are low
hanging fruits and can yield big results with limited effort. Once such
tasks are determined, the king must get them started immediately and
not procrastinate.
✦ Allocation of work must be done after proper consideration of the
capabilities and merit of the people.
Justice Delivery
✦ Well-learned ministers should consider every case of disbursement of
justice for all citizens in distress, dispassionately and objectively,
irrespective of whether the citizen is rich or poor.
✦ An honest person must not be punished out of malice or impatience
before a proper inquiry is undertaken to prove the crime. The tears that
fall from the eyes of the falsely accused destroy the children and wealth
of the ruler who rules according to his whims and fancies.
✦ A person caught for theft or wrongdoing, whose guilt is proven by
evidence, should not be set free out of greed for money (bribe).
✦ Punishment must be commensurate with the crime, not so aggressive that
it agitates the citizens.
✦ A learned person involved in fomenting trouble, a person engaged in
corrupting the officers and employees of the state, a brave man
overpowered by lust and luxury (so much that he can conspire against
the state), must be slain. A king who does not kill them is himself killed
in due course.
Administration, Citizen Welfare and Security
✦ Trade and enterprise are the cornerstone of a kingdom’s prosperity. All
those engaged in economic activities and resource generation (farming,
animal husbandry, etc.) must be taken care of.
✦ Expenditures must be commensurate with (that is, lower than) income.
✦ Taxes should be appropriate and not a burden on the people. If the taxes
are excruciating, the citizens scorn at the king like women scorn at a
lustful lover (typically, scriptures prescribe tax at one-sixth of the
produce of the citizens).
✦ The king’s fort should always be well-stocked with ammunition, food,
water and requisite tools required for any kind of work.
✦ Never underestimate any enemies, especially those who were defeated
once and have returned to fight again.
✦ A well-established network of spies who operate within the kingdom as
well as outside is critical for the kingdom’s security.
✦ Appropriate wages should be paid to the army and other employees, and
on time. Wages if not paid on time can make the workers hostile and
corrupt, leading to a great calamity for the employer.
✦ Soldiers who are courageous, powerful, skilled in warfare and have
proven heroic exploits must be felicitated and honoured.
✦ Patronage should only be given to the deserving, not the underserving.
✦ Women’s safety and happiness are the king’s responsibility. But not just
men, one must not trust even women blindly and be careful about
disclosing secrets to them (to avoid the possibility of honey traps and
leakage of state secrets).
Discipline and Accessibility
✦ A king must have discipline in waking up and sleeping. Waking up every
day on time (before sunrise) is important, so is not indulging in
excessive sleep or at the wrong hours.
✦ The last part of the night (the time before sunrise) should be spent
thinking about administration and statecraft, and planning for the day.
✦ A king must be accessible to his people. He must present himself every
day on the royal pathway before the people at a given time during the
first half of the day.
✦ While a king must be approachable to his people, he should also be
careful about not letting his employees get too close so they take him
for granted. The dignity of the position must be maintained.
✦ A king must allocate adequate time for attending to all the three
expedients of life, that is, dharma—religious practices, artha—
administration and resource generation for material prosperity, and
kāma—sensual pleasure and entertainment. All three are important and
a king must know to balance them for his and his kingdom’s happiness.
Fourteen Areas to Watch Out for the King
✦ Gratification of the five senses
✦ Planning alone regarding the affairs of the kingdom
✦ Consultation with people who are not proficient
✦ Failure to implement decisions
✦ Inability to keep the counsel secret
✦ Opening many battlefronts at once
✦ Omission of auspicious practices
✦ Non-belief in the wisdom of the Vedas
✦ Not keeping the company of the wise
✦ Falsehood
✦ Anger
✦ Inattention
✦ Procrastination
✦ Indolence
Many of the administrative do’s and don’ts mentioned here are seen in the
Mahābhārata as well as in Chanakya’s Arthashāstra. For example:
✦ Vidura tells Dhritarāshtra that there are two ways in which resources are wasted—not giving to
the deserving and giving to the undeserving.
✦ Bhishma tells Yudhishthira that a king who wishes to enjoy power must not destroy the wealth
of his citizens, and all dues owed by the king to the citizens must be repaid on time.
✦ Chanakya emphasises a king’s ability to give ‘yathārtha danda’, which literally means
‘commensurate punishment’, not too aggressive nor too lax, just right enough for the gravity of
the crime, to punish the guilty and deter the rest.
Rāma’s discourse with Bharata is a testimony of his deep understanding of
Nitishāshtras and Dharmashāstras, which talk extensively about how a king
should govern.
But understanding itself is not enough to establish a happy society. The
understanding must translate into right decision-making and action. Rāma
could make that happen.
What was it about Rāma that other leaders struggle to achieve?
The last part of Rishi Chānakya’s mantra gives an insight into this
question as well. He says:
|
Good governance depends on control of the senses and mind (of
the leader).
How well a state is governed eventually depends on its leadership (in this
case, the king). Crystal clear objectivity, absence of any kind of bias,
detached thought process, understanding of context and dharma, long term
vision, are important aspects of leadership. These can come only when
one’s mind and senses are firmly under control, not otherwise.
Rāma had achieved that control. He has been described as vashi,
niyatātmā, vijitendriya and so on, which imply a person who is steady-
minded and has won over his senses and desires.
Rāma Rājya can happen only when the leader has the qualities and
acumen of Rāma.
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A Short Note on the Approach to Understanding
Itihāsa
There are two events in Uttara Kānda on which many scholars, seekers and
readers have divergent and strong opinions. Some consider Rāma’s actions
in these situations unfair. Some others consider Uttara Kānda as a later-day
interpolation and reject the authenticity of the two events.
As the events are popular, often discussed, and found both in the Baroda
Critical Edition of Vālmiki Rāmāyana as well as Gita Press’s Vālmiki
Rāmāyana, I have included them here in the Epilogue.
Our itihāsas are case studies for us to learn from and implement in our
own lives as relevant. Most importantly, the stories from the lives of our
ancestors underscore the fact that dharma sankatas are a reality of life. Even
Rāma and Krishna had to deal with such ethical dilemmas. Often,
alternatives available to resolve the sankatas may seem sub-optimal. But
decisions, we still must make. How we navigate our dharma sankatas will
depend on our strength of character as well as our mind, value system and
viveka buddhi.
The objective of the study of itihāsas, dharma shāstras and education in
general, is just that—to help develop our discrimination faculty, character
and value system. Hence, while judgement comes naturally to us when
reading itihāsa, instead of outrightly dismissing that which seemingly
contradicts our beliefs, we must seek to understand whether there is
something we can learn from the events that would help us deal with our
own dharma sankatas better, keeping in mind our current realities and
contexts.
The first step to that would be to ask the right questions about the
motivations for the decisions made, the contexts in which they were made
and the scope of responsibility of the person making the decisions in
relation to the society he or she was a part of. The last part is especially
crucial—what could be the right action for an administrator or an official
may not necessarily be so for a subject or a common person. Likewise, what
seems like an undesirable act for a subject may be important for an
administrator to undertake. For example, it may be important for an
administrator to employ violence, if the situation so demands, to ensure
peace and security in the society but that doesn’t mean an individual has the
right to use violence at will to resolve conflicts. That latter would push the
society into anarchy and chaos.
The next step would be to understand what alternatives were available to
the individual and the possible implications of not making the decision that
was taken. Such an approach is more likely to help us form a more balanced
and objective view of the events. Even then, we may not get a binary right
or wrong answer because we play multiple roles in our lives and being true
to one role may often mean compromising on another. Such is the nature of
dharma sankatas.
Let’s consider the two events.
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Shambuka Vadha
It was said that during the reign of Rāma, nothing untoward ever happened
in the kingdom. This was due to the dharmic and just rule of Rāma that
encouraged the citizens to lead equally righteous lives as their king. No one
died without having lived their full life. There were no young widows, nor
parents who had to see the death of their children.
Then one day, an event took place. A father came crying to Rāma’s
court, carrying the body of his seemingly dead son. No reason for the death
could be ascertained.
The sorrowful father blamed Rāma for his son’s death. ‘It seems that
some unworthy act has been done by the king or he has allowed unjust
activities to foster in the kingdom that has caused this. My son was
otherwise perfectly healthy,’ the father wailed.
Rāma was overcome with grief. He called upon his gurus to deliberate
what could be the reason for such an unprecedented event. Nārada gave his
opinion, ‘It seems like someone is indulging in certain acts in your kingdom
that he is not qualified to perform. You must investigate if someone in your
kingdom has undertaken rituals and tapasyā he is not supposed to, leading
to such an unnatural event.’
Rāma decided to tour his kingdom to find out if someone was indulging
in such acts. Somewhere in the southern direction, by a lake, he saw a man
engaged in an aggressive penance, hanging upside down. Rāma was
astonished. He accosted the person and enquired his identity and the reason
for such intense practice.
Still hanging upside down, the man said, ‘I am Shambuka. I have
undertaken this tapasyā because I wish to achieve deity-hood in this body
itself. I wish to conquer the heavens with the strength I gain through this
tapasyā.’ As soon as Shambuka uttered these words, Rāma took out his
sword and severed Shambuka’s head.
In the palace, the boy who was thought to be dead opened his eyes and
sat up. The aberration had been corrected; natural order had been restored.1
This incident is often narrated to brand the Rāmāyana as a casteist text
because Shambuka was born in a shudra family. The premise of the
argument is that Rāma killed a Shambuka, a shudra, just for doing tapasyā.
But that would be an incorrect conclusion.
Shambuka was punished not because he was just doing tapasyā, but
because of the purpose of his tapasyā. His objective was to break the laws
of nature—to achieve deity-hood in the human body was unnatural and not
possible for any human, no matter what his caste. In Rāma’s rājya, nature
was bountiful because people lived in harmony with nature. When the
balance is disturbed, unnatural consequences are bound to happen.
Shambuka was guilty of attempting to disrupt this harmony leading to an
unnatural consequence (the death of the child). It was Rāma’s duty to
punish the guilty and restore nature’s balance.
Trishanku, one of Rāma’s ancestors, had a similar desire, to enter heaven
in his human body. He urged his guru, Rishi Vashishtha, to perform rituals
that would make it happen. The rishi refused outright because it entailed
challenging the laws of nature. Trishanku then approached the rishi’s sons.
They too refused to grant such an outrageous request even though
Trishanku was the king.
The misinterpretation of the Shambuka incident occurs because of the
error of viewing the episode only through the lens of identity. Without the
imposition of the identity lens, there is nothing negative in the incident.
The question to be asked here is—what was the motivation for Rāma’s
action? Would he have behaved differently if a non-shudra had performed
an intense ritual that would have caused harm to some innocent citizen?
The answer is a resounding ‘yes’!
Rāma’s past actions show he would have been unbiased. Rāma killed
Rāvana, even though Rāvana was the son of a brāhmin. He killed Tātakā, a
woman, although scriptures prohibit the killing of women. There is a
respectful mention of two non-brāhmin, non-kshatriya tapasvis in the
Rāmāyana—Shravan and Shabari. Shravan was the son of a vaishya father
and a shudra mother. Shabari was a shudra. No one stopped either of them
from engaging in tapasyā.
The sustainability of a society depends on protecting nature and its laws.
It behoves an administrator to punish those who act in a way that harms the
sustainability of society. It behoves an administrator to do all that must be
done to protect innocent subjects. Rāma understood his responsibilities
extremely well.
For him, there was no grievance too trivial, no citizen unworthy. He did
everything he could to ensure every person was justly treated and those who
deserved to be punished were rightfully punished. Rāma had explained to
Vāli in Kishkindhā that it was a king’s moral duty to protect the innocent
and punish the guilty, whoever the person may be. Dharma must prevail,
irrespective of the position of the culprit.
Shambuka’s crime was not his birth but his attempt to transgress the laws
of nature.
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Forsaken
‘I so wish to visit the charming forests and āshrams again,’ said Seetā, as
she rested her head on Rāma’s lap. ‘So it will be,’ said Rāma loving
stroking her forehead. The years since Rāma’s coronation had passed by
swiftly. While life had been comfortable, Rāma had become busy with the
affairs of the kingdom. Seetā missed their time in the forest when he was
only hers. There was not a moment in those thirteen years before the fated
Lankā tragedy that the two were separated. Nevertheless, the present days
were also among their happiest. Seetā was pregnant. Rāma couldn’t stop
pampering her. When Seetā pined for the forests and made the wish, she
didn’t know that her desire was to come true soon, but in the most
unexpected manner.
A few days later, Rāma was entertaining some artists and storytellers in
his court. He also used these men as his eyes and ears to learn of the
happenings, talks and gossip in the kingdom. One of them was a man
named Bhadra. ‘Tell me Bhadra, what are the talks among the citizens about
me, Seetā, Lakshmana, Bharata and other members of the royal family? A
king should always know what’s been spoken of. Tell me without
hesitation. I will continue to do what the people think is good and give up
what they think is not desirable.’
‘The citizens often discuss your Lankā exploits. They are in awe of
them,’ said Bhadra and abruptly stopped short of saying what he was about
to say next. Rāma noticed his unease and convinced him to speak out
whatever he had heard. ‘The citizens have been gossiping about you and
Seetā,’ said Bhadra, ‘and they say, “Rāvana carried her in his lap and took
her to Lankā. There she stayed for so many months among the rākshasas in
the beautiful Ashokavātikā, which is known to be the place for Rāvana’s
indulgences. Does Rāma not feel any aversion when touching Seetā?
Because Rāma has put up with such lapses of Seetā, we are having to
tolerate those of our wives too. As citizens, we have no choice but to follow
the precedent set by our king.” This is what I heard.’ Bhadra was
uncomfortable, unable to hide his embarrassment.
Rāma was shocked. He couldn’t believe his ears. He looked at the other
men present there. ‘Is that true? Have you all heard something like that
too?’ he asked. ‘Yes Mahārāja, we have heard these talks among the
citizens as well,’ they said with their eyes downcast, unable to look at Rāma
directly. Shaken, Rāma took their leave and called for his brothers.
Something had to be done to handle the situation. A king’s conduct must be
beyond reproach. The final award of justice rests with the king. Hence, he
needs to ensure that every citizen trusts him completely, without even a
speck of doubt about the king’s character or intentions.
The brothers came and were surprised to see Rāma’s countenance. He
was in a state of extreme grief. Tears had swelled up in his eyes. He told
them about the falsehood spread widely about him and Seetā among the
people of Ayodhyā. ‘Though I had no doubt about Seetā’s chastity, I knew
people may raise questions about her character. Hence, I provoked Seetā in
Lankā. And Seetā proved herself by undergoing the agni parikshā. But now
such talks have been doing rounds among the people,’ he said and stopped.
A whirlwind of emotions was rising in his heart.
He composed himself and spoke again, ‘I should not do anything that
makes the citizens look down upon me or lose trust in me. I can’t bear
losing my reputation. Hence, I have decided to leave Seetā. There has been
no bigger pain than this that I ever had to deal with before.’ He ordered
Lakshmana to drive Seetā to the outskirts of the kingdom and leave her in
the forest beyond the banks of Gangā. ‘Seetā wished to spend time in the
forests and āshrams. May her wish be fulfilled now,’ he choked as he spoke,
unable to control his tears any longer.
The next morning, Lakshmana took Seetā in the chariot. Seetā was under
the impression that she was going to visit a few āshrams and would return
to Ayodhyā in a few days. She couldn’t understand why Lakshmana looked
so grim and sombre. Only on reaching the banks of Gangā did Lakshmana
disclose Rāma’s decision to her. ‘I would have preferred death to saying
what I am about to say. Please do not be upset with me because I am
helpless in this. There are a lot of unworthy things being said about you in
Ayodhyā. This has agitated Rāma’s mind so much that he has decided to
leave you. I know your character is without blemish. But Rāma has taken
the defamation to heart. May you live comfortably in this sacred land of the
rishis, in their āshrams as was your wish,’ said Lakshmana, with a heavy
heart.
Seetā was dumbstruck. She couldn’t speak for a few minutes. Tears
rolled down her eyes like streams of water. Then she spoke as a
sahadharmachārini would: ‘Lakshmana, you have only done your duty, as
you must. Ideally, I should have given up my life in such a situation, but I
am carrying Rāma’s child. It is not right for me to do so now. But do
convey my message to Rāma. “Rāma, I know that you are fully confident of
my chastity and the purity of my character. You also know that I have only
loved you and I have always done only what is favourable for you. The
criticism you are facing in the kingdom is due to me. It is my responsibility
to do whatever will cleanse you of such censure. Therefore, you continue to
live in a way that you never lose your fame or reputation among the people,
and I will live like a committed wife should, doing whatever is agreeable to
you.”’ Lakshmana took the message and left. He was sobbing loudly by
then. Seetā stood still, looking at the chariot moving away. Then she sat
down and began crying even more profusely as if the dam of restraint had
been broken by the force of grief.1
Some young students of Rishi Vālmiki saw Seetā in that state and
informed their guru about it. Rishi Vālmiki brought Seetā to his āshram.
This became her home for the rest of her life. She gave birth to twins—
Lava and Kusha—in Rishi Vālmiki’s āshram. The rishi took the boys as his
disciples and taught them all that a prince should know. Lava and Kusha
were the first recipients of the Rāmāyana from the rishi. They were singing
the Rāmāyana on the streets of Ayodhyā when Rāma spotted them and
invited them to sing it in the palace.
When the people of Ayodhyā saw Lava–Kusha, they were astonished by
their resemblance with Rāma. Over the course of the rendition of the
Rāmāyana in the palace by the boys, the mystery behind their resemblance
was revealed. They were Rāma’s sons, born through Seetā in Rishi
Vālmiki’s āshram.
Rāma was delighted but restrained in his expression of joy. He sent a
messenger to Rishi Vālmiki to invite him to the palace along with Seetā. ‘I
do not doubt Seetā at all. I had to forsake her because of the widespread
slander about her in the kingdom. If she proclaims her chastity before the
people of Ayodhyā, I will accept her back,’ his message said. The next day,
Rishi Vālmiki came to the palace, with Seetā following him. Before the
who’s who of Ayodhyā, the rishi proclaimed, ‘There has never been a
thought of another man in Seetā’s mind apart from Rāma.’
Rāma was very happy with Rishi Vālmiki’s public endorsement. ‘I trust
Seetā fully. I am also aware that these two boys are mine. Seetā had already
proven herself in Lankā. Now you too have asserted the same. May I be
forgiven for letting her go out of fear of public criticism? But I will be
happier if she can herself affirm this in front of the people of Ayodhyā,
removing vestiges of any doubt in their minds,’ he said.
All eyes fell on Seetā. Dressed in saffron like a tapasvini, Seetā folded
her hands and lowered her eyes, her sight fixed on the ground. She spoke
loudly enough for everyone to hear, ‘If I have never thought of any man
except for Rāma, Mother Earth, I urge you to take me in your lap. If I have
worshipped only Rāma with my mind, speech and action, Mother Earth,
find me space within you.’
As if on cue, tremors shook Ayodhyā and the earth split wide open
where Seetā stood, taking her in as she had desired. The crevice that had
opened closed immediately. Seetā was gone forever.
Rāma, the king, her husband, had asked her to testify her character
publicly once again. She, being a citizen, a wife and the queen, couldn’t
have violated the order. Seetā affirmed her chastity openly, that was her
duty. But returning to the palace and to Rāma, or not, was not a call of duty
—that was a choice she had to make. She chose not to return.
The king had fulfilled his duty towards the citizens. But what about the
husband? He put her through this humiliation twice, knowing fully well she
was without even a touch of taint.
Seetā didn’t complain when Rāma questioned her chastity in Lankā. She
understood his issues. She voluntarily took the agni parikshā. She did not
even complain when Lakshmana told her that she was forsaken. Dejected
and hurt she surely was. But even in her sorrow, she didn’t harbour any
grudge against Rāma. She understood that the king and queen have to be
beyond reproach. Instead, she immersed herself in bringing up her sons.
They were princes of Ayodhyā, the future of the Ikshvākus.
Seetā had fulfilled her role as a wife, a queen and a mother to the fullest.
Beyond that, she was a woman in her own right. She had protected her
dignity in the direst of circumstances in Lankā. She chose, once again, not
to bargain her honour for the luxuries of the palace or even Rāma’s
acceptance. Seetā was the daughter of the earth, and it was on earth that she
found her final vindication.2
Seetā’s character shines dazzlingly bright in this episode. It is impossible
not to feel her pain. It is impossible not to be upset with Rāma for the
treatment he meted out to her. She deserved better, especially from the man
she loved so deeply and sincerely.
Why did Rāma behave so heartlessly when he knew the criticism of
Seetā was unfounded? Lakshmana asked the same question, probably
rhetorically, to Sumantra who was driving the chariot on the way back, after
leaving Seetā in the forest. Sumantra consoled Lakshmana saying that this
was all destined. He told Lakshmana about a prediction made by Rishi
Durvāsā to Dasharatha about Rāma.
Rishi Durvāsā had told Dasharatha about the curse that Rishi Bhrigu had
pronounced on Vishnu for killing his wife. ‘Rishi Bhrigu’s wife had
sheltered the daityas who were a constant source of harassment to the
devas. This had angered Vishnu. He slew her for the offence. The rishi put a
curse on him for that. “You too will have to suffer the pain of separation
from your beloved wife as I am suffering,” the rishi had said. To end the
menace of Rāvana and establish dharma on earth, Vishnu has been born in
human avatār as Rāma. But in this birth, he had to live the curse of Rishi
Bhrigu too. The separation of Rāma and Seetā was fated,’ concluded
Sumantra.3
But that doesn’t absolve Rāma from taking the decision he took. Our
mind boggles at the enormity of his actions because we know he loved
Seetā more than his own self. While some people are quick to call him a
misogynist, none of his actions suggests he was one. In fact, his entire life
had been shaped by the decisions of the women in his life. Kaikeyi got him
exiled, Shurpanakhā unleashed Rāvana on him, and eventually, Seetā not
only insisted on the never-before-seen deer but also insulted Lakshmana in
the worst possible way to make him leave her alone and go to look for
Rāma. This gave the opportunity that Rāvana was waiting for to carry her
away. In a way, the women led him to achieve the purpose that he was
destined for.
Why, then, did Rāma behave the way he did?
Some questions will need to be answered putting ourselves in Rāma’s
shoes to understand the ‘why’.
✦ When the role of a husband conflicts with the role of a king, which one
should take precedence?
✦ What could have been an alternate approach to handle the issue he faced?
What could be the possible short-term and long-term implications of
these alternate approaches?
✦ What kind of behaviour do we expect from our leaders in such situations
where their personal and social responsibilities are in conflict?
In most ancient civilisations, the king and queen were expected to be
beyond suspicion as people looked up to them. They were expected to set
standards of social morality. The king can inspire unquestioned trust from
the citizens, who look to him for justice, only when his own life choices are
beyond question. The status accorded to the king was akin to God on earth,
and so were the expectations from him.
The public censure of Seetā was widespread. If Rāma had insisted on
holding on to her, it would be realistic to believe that people would have
labelled him lustful like his father. It takes time and effort to build a
reputation and just one thoughtless action can break it into smithereens.
The thing about dharma sankata or ethical dilemma is that a choice has
to be made among apparently sub-optimal outcomes. The wisdom of the
person lies in choosing the least problematic sub-optimal option. Such is
life and such is the lesson of the Rāmāyana—public respect, public
reverence and public trust demand personal sacrifices. Nor did Rāma have
the luxury of giving up the kingdom. To protect and govern the kingdom
was his duty, his swadharma. He chose to sacrifice his personal life at the
altar of his kingly duties. He chose to be an ideal king at the cost of his
duties as a husband.
Is this not what we expect of our leaders too—to put society before self?
It is easy to judge Rāma, but not so easy to be Rāma. That requires
immense strength of character, absolute clarity of priorities and the ability
to withstand emotional pain.
Rāma knew Seetā would understand. She did. Not once did she complain
about being forsaken. She understood how painful the situation was for
him. In that pain, they were equal partners.
Seetā drew a line when the demands on her crossed the boundary of self-
respect and entered the area of humiliation. Rāma had forsaken her to
protect his honour; she eventually forsook everyone and everything to
protect hers. He never strayed away from his dharma, nor did she!
May Rāma’s strength and Seetā’s resilience,
May Rāma’s valour and Seetā’s fortitude,
May Rāma’s wisdom and Seetā’s commitment,
Forever inspire us!
Jai Siya Ram!
Ψ
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NOTES
INTRODUCTION
Bāla Kānda 1.2.36.
SUMMARY STORYLINE
Resolve to undertake the fire ritual in the prescribed way.
THE DIVINE INSPIRATION
Bāla Kānda 1.1.2–1.1.4.
:
: : :
1.1.3 :
1.1.4
Bāla Kānda 1.2.15.
The phrase used is meaning that which is meant to reinforce the message
of the Vedas. This is mentioned in Bāla Kānda 1.4.6.
Bāla Kānda 1.3.8.
Uttara Kānda 7.96.19.
Skanda Purāna Vaishākhamāsam Mahātmya.
‘Sankshipta Jeevani’ in Vālmiki Rāmāyana, Gita Press, p. 4.
BLOODLINES
Three of the four purushārthas of Hindu life are righteousness, enterprise and pleasure. The
fourth purushārtha is moksha—liberation from the cycle of birth and death and from the cycle of
desire and pain. Translations of the terms are only directional as the terms are a lot more
profound. Simply put, they stand for value and actions important for a fruitful and fulfilling life.
Bāla Kānda 1.5.1–1.5.4.
Bāla Kānda 1.70, Ayodhyā Kānda 2.110.
Bāla Kānda 1.66.12–1.66.15.
Bāla Kānda 1.71.
Tapasyā—physical and mental effort undertaken to achieve a prescribed goal. It involves strict
control on sensory organs and single-pointed focus. Typically, the word is translated as ‘penance’
in English.
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Uttara Kānda 7.2-7.8.
Uttara Kānda 7.9.
Brahma deva is considered the grandfather of all beings given his ‘Creator’ status among the
Trideva—Brahmā, Vishnu, Mahesh. In Rāvana’s case, Brahma was his great-grandfather by
relation as well. Rishi Pulastya, Rāvana’s grandfather, was Brahmā’s son.
Uttara Kānda 7.10.
Uttara Kānda sarga 7.12.
Uttara Kānda 7.23.17–7.23.18.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4366788/,
https://www.myind.net/Home/viewArticle/kumbhakarna-kleine-levin-syndrome-a-new-theory-
about-the-ramayana.
Bāla Kānda 1.17.20–1.17.23: The shlokas translate to, ‘The devatās, rishis, gandharvas, garudas,
yakshas, kimpurushas, siddhas, vidyadharas, uragas and other forest dwellers happily procreated
with apsarās, vidhyadaris, nagas and gandharvas, and gave birth to gigantic vānaras who
wandered in the forest.’ The YouTube channel 21 Notes, which creates educational videos on
Vālmiki Rāmāyana, proposes that the animal names (monkeys, bears, langurs, etc.) have been
given due to the way the forest dwelling tribes dressed and presented themselves. Such ways of
dressing are still found among the forest dwelling tribes in Amazon, parts of Africa and other
places. The epic talks about Hanumāna being learned in Vedas, Vāli performing Sandhyopāsanā
and Rāma addressing Sugreeva as his brother, clearly indicating vānaras are not monkeys as we
understand today but a tribe of people who also followed many aspects of Vedic civilisation.
Kishkindhā is believed to be the present-day Hampi area.
Dandaka forest region extended from south of Vindhyas to the south Indian peninsula.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.66.10–4.66.20.
Skānda Purāna translated by G.V. Tagare.
CITIES AND CITY LIFE IN THE RĀMĀYANA
The word used is .
One yojana is equivalent to about 8 miles or 13 kilometres.
Bāla Kānda 1.5–1.7.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.33,1-4.33.17.
Uttara Kānda 7.11.
Sundara Kānda 5.2–5.4.
VISHVĀMITRA’S QUEST
Yajna vedi is an altar in which the yajna (fire ritual) is conducted.
Bāla Kānda 1.18–1.21.
Bāla Kānda 1.22.
Present-day Bihar region, around the districts of Bhagalpur and Munger. In the Mahābhārata,
Karna’s foster parents—Adhirath and Rādhā—came from Angadesh. Duryodhana conferred the
title of this janapada on Karna.
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Bāla Kānda 1.23.2.
The word used is ‘’—for the welfare of people belonging to all
four varnas.
It was believed that the power of the rākshasas became more potent at night.
Bāla Kānda 1.23–1.27.
In the Hindu world view, Vishnu takes ten births, or Dashāvatār, to establish dharma on earth.
Nine avatārs have already taken place; the tenth one, the Kalki avatār, is yet to happen. Vāmana
avatār is the fifth one, in which Vishnu is born as a dwarf child of Rishi Kashyap and his wife
Aditi.
Mānavāstra, Agneyāstra, Vayavyāstra are different kinds of arrows and missiles that were used in
warfare.
Bāla Kānda 1.30.
Purohit is a priest who conducts ceremonial rituals.
Bāla Kānda 1.66.13–1.66.24.
THE MAKING OF VISHVĀMITRA
Vāchaspatyam— .
, .
Shabda Kalpadruma— .
One akshauhini army comprises 21,870 chariots, 65,610 horses, 21,870 elephants and 1,09,350
soldiers on foot.
Bāla Kānda 1.52. The imagery of Shabalā is beautifully explained in 21 Notes, a YouTube
channel presenting the stories of Vālmiki Rāmāyana. Shabalā is seen as the chief administrative
officer of Rishi Vashishtha’s āshram. Her efficiency and resourcefulness impressed Kaushik, who
felt that someone as good as Shabalā should belong to the royal palace. The appearance of
warriors from her ‘moo’ is explained as the people dwelling in forest around the āshram who
shared a symbiotic dependency on the āshram. These people assembled at Shabalā’s call to
protect the āshram.
Bāla Kānda 1.53.
Bāla Kānda 1.58–1.60.
Bāla Kānda 1.63.
Bāla Kānda 1.64.
Bāla Kānda 1.65.
AHALYĀ
Uttara Kānda 7.30.22–7.30.23.
Surashreshtha—the best among Suras. Suras are deities in the Hindu pantheon.
While the word used for Gautama’s punishment to both Indra and Ahalyā is ‘shaptvān’, that is,
‘cursed’, a distinction is made here—curse for Indra and atonement for Ahalyā. The reason is
apparent in Gautam’s words itself. Unlike Indra, who has been cursed with impotency, Gautama
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doesn’t proclaim any lifelong affliction on Ahalyā; rather, he tells her the way to make amends
for the folly in a manner that will help her achieve mastery on her own self.
Bāla Kānda 1.48.11–1.48.33.
Bāla Kānda 1.49.11. The word used is —one who is in the form of the divine.
Ahalyā, Draupadi, Kunti, Tārā and Mandodari are the five illustrious women of Indian epics. In
some variants, Seetā is included instead of Kunti.
THE DESCENT OF GANGĀ
‘Lectures on Rāmāyana’ by Professor B. Mahadevan on YouTube channel, Practical Vedanta
IIMB; stories of the Rāmāyana on YouTube channel 21 Notes.
A TWIST OF FATE
Gandharvas were considered experts in all forms of arts, especially music and dance. Gāndharva
shreshtha implies the best among Gandharvas. Rāma was that proficient in music and art.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.1.
This line is the author’s inference. The text doesn’t say anything more than Dasharatha being in a
hurry for not inviting Kekaya and Mithilā.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.2.
According to Hindu astrology, there are twenty-seven prominent stars in constellations around
the earth’s elliptical orbit. These stars or groups of stars are called nakshatras. Their positions are
considered to decide auspicious time to perform any major activity. The moon goes around the
earth in 27.5 days, spending roughly a day in every nakshatra. Pushya is one such nakshatra
which falls in the Karka or Cancer constellation. When the moon appears in conjunction with
Pushya, it is said to be the time of that nakshatra.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.3.38–2.3.45.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.4.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.7.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.8.5–2.8.7, 2.8.22–2.8.39.
A special room in palaces where a queen would stay to show her disapproval or anger. Without
having to say it aloud, the presence in the room was enough to convey the mood of the person.
Krodhāgār literally means anger-house.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.9.1–2.9.33.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.10.23.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.10.29–2.10.34.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.12.99—Kaikeyi doesn’t use these exact words when she first makes her
demand. Rather, she elaborates her request. But the intent is the same.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.11.1–2.11.28.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.12.7–2.12.16.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.12.42–2.12.49.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.18.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.19.14–2.19.16.
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Ayodhyā Kānda 2.19.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.20.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.21.2–2.21.6, 2.21.12–2.21.13.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.21.21–2.21.22, 2.21.25–2.21.27.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.21.34–2.21.50.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.22.8–2.22.24.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.31.11–2.31.14.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.31.21–2.31.23.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.34.24–2.34.37.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.37.6–2.37.16.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.37.23–2.37.24.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.32.15–2.32.28.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.52.61–2.52.62.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.74.6–2.74.7.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.103.30, 2.104.13–2.104.15.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.106.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.108.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.109, 2.110.1–2.110.2.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.112.23–2.112.25.
SAHADHARMACHĀRINI
A valiant act, very difficult to achieve.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.26.5–2.26.8.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.26.19–2.26.26.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.27.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.28.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.30.3–2.30.4.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.60.8–2.60.12.
A set of daily rituals which are expected to be performed by Hindus. These include, snana
(bathing), sandhyāvandanam and agnihotram, among others.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.94.
Aranya Kānda 3.2.18–3.2.19.
Aranya Kānda 3.6.11–3.6.14.
Aranya Kānda 3.9.
Aranya Kānda 3.10.3–3.10.6, 3.10.20.
Aranya Kānda 3.11.24–3.11.26.
Aranya Kānda 3.13.3–3.13.4.
Aranya Kānda 3.17.24–3.17.28.
Aranya Kānda 3.18.2–3.18.3.
Aranya Kānda 3.18.9–3.18.10.
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Aranya Kānda 3.18.14–3.18.21.
Aranya Kānda 3.34.15–3.34.25.
Aranya Kānda 3.33.
Aranya Kānda 3.37.
Aranya Kānda 3.37.13.
In common tales, Māreech is a said to take the form of a golden deer but in Vālmiki Rāmāyana,
he takes the form of a unique multi-coloured deer.
Aranya Kānda 3.43.
Aranya Kānda 3.45.5–3.45.8.
Aranya Kānda 3.45.22–3.45.34.
Aranya Kānda 3.47.33–3.47.42.
Aranya Kānda 3.49.17.
Aranya Kānda 3.56.24–3.56.25.
Aranya Kānda 3.58.2–3.58.11, 3.59.2.
Aranya Kānda 3.59.22–3.59.24.
Aranya Kānda 3.60.10–3.60.11.
Aranya Kānda 3.62.14–3.62.15, 3.63.5–3.63.6.
Aranya Kānda 3.64.71–3.64.72.
Aranya Kānda 3.65.4–3.65.16.
Aranya Kānda 3.66.5–3.66.10.
Sundara Kānda 5.15.23–5.15.27.
Sundara Kānda 5.15.32–5.15.34, the shloka is
, ,
,
Sundara Kānda 5.15.52.
Sundara Kānda 5.20.
Sundara Kānda 5.21.
Sundara Kānda 5.22.8–5.22.9.
Sundara Kānda 5.24.8–5.24.10.
Sundara Kānda 5.24.18–5.24.19.
Sundara Kānda 5.35.46–5.35.49.
Sundara Kānda 5. 37.46–5.37.47, 5.37.48–5.37.52, 5.37.57, 5.37.62–5.37.63.
Sundara Kānda 5.38.11–5.38.40.
Sundara Kānda 5.65.25.
Sundara Kānda 5.66.10–5.66.11.
Yuddha Kānda 6.112.24–6.112.26.
Yuddha Kānda 6.113.
Yuddha Kānda 6.113.49.
Yuddha Kānda 6.114.5–6.114.7.
Yuddha Kānda 6. 114.18, 6.114.32–6.114.35.
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Yuddha Kānda 6.115.2–6.115.6, 6.115.15–6.115.24.
Yuddha Kānda 6.116.3–6.116.15.
Yuddha Kānda 6.116.18–6.116.19.
Yuddha Kānda 6.116.20–6.116.21.
Yuddha Kānda 6.116.25–6.116.30, 6.116.33–6.116.34.
KINSHIP IN KISHKINDHĀ
Sandhyopāsanā—sandhyā upāsanā—ritual prayer prescribed by scriptures for people of Sanātana
Dharma, offered at dawn, dusk and noon, to the Sun—Savitr.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.11.
Uttara Kānda 7.34.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.8.9–4.8.10.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.5.11–4.5.15.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.11.22–4.11.68.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.11.69–4.11.81.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.11.83–4.11.90.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.12.1–4.12.5.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.12.21–4.12.42.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.15.3–4.15.30.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.16.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.17.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.18.4–4.18.12.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.18.13–4.18.21.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.18.22.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.18.25–4.18.33.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.18.37–4.18.40. A point to be noted here is that Rāma has called Sugreeva as
his brother. Later, Bharata hugs Hanumāna, calling him his brother. We are told about Vāli
performing Sandhyopāsanā, and about Hanumāna being learned in the scriptures. All these facts
must be kept in mind while reading this explanation of Rāma. He categorically states the crime
of Vāli that necessitated punishment. Such rules of civilisation are valid only for a society of
humans, not animals. Neither does Rāma call Vāli an animal by himself. This argument of
hunting is in response to Vāli’s, where he positions himself as an animal while questioning his
killing.
The reference to Manusmriti verses is mentioned as a note in Srimad Vālmiki Rāmāyana,
Volume 1, published by Gita Press, page 797.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.18.50–4.18.56.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.22.3–4.22.14.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.22.20–4.22.24.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.30.81–4.30.82, 4.31.1–4.31.7.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.32.1–4.32.22.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.34.
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Kishkindhā Kānda 4.35.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.40.9–4.40.15
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.44.6–4.44.13.
Yuddha Kānda 6.20.9–6.20.28.
Yuddha Kānda 6.22.44–6.22.46.
Yuddha Kānda 6.22.52–6.22.74.
Yuddha Kānda 6.66.20–6.66.25.
Yuddha Kānda 6.41.4–6.41.7.
‘Nāgapāsh’ literally means a weapon which binds the opponent with snakes. This could also
allude to weapons or arrows which may have been dipped in snake poison and when hit, the
poison spreads in the opponent’s body.
Garuda is a bird of the eagle family and is supposed to be a nemesis of snakes. Here it could also
refer to people who had an antidote to snake poison. In the Hindu belief system, Garuda is the
vāhan of Vishnu. As Rāma is considered a Vishnu avatār, the arrival of Garuda has a special
significance here. The Garuda is believed to have to come to save his master in need.
Yuddha Kānda 6.101.31–6.101.32.
https://www.planetayurveda.com/library/ayapan-eupatorium-triplinerve/.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4623628/.
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/16184012/; https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/30087785/.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5512407/.
Yuddha Kānda 6.120.5–6.120.13.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.40.30.
Interested readers must check out the talks of Shri Nilesh Nilkantha Oak on Sugreeva’s Atlas.
There are other blogs such as https://vediccafe.blogspot.com/ which also discuss Sarga 40–43 of
Kishkindhā Kānda in detail.
VĀYUPUTRA
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.2.1–4.2.27.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.3.1–4.3.18.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.3.19–4.3.24.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.3.36–4.3.39.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.3.28–4.3.34.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.53.8–4.53.19.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.53.25–4.53.27.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.54.
By this, Angada is referring to the time when Vāli was thought to be dead in the tussle with
Māyāvi in a cave, whose mouth was blocked by Sugreeva assuming Māyāvi had killed Vāli.
Everyone believed Sugreeva and crowned him the king. As per the norms of the community,
Vāli’s widow Tārā accepted Sugreeva as her husband. But as it was found later, Vāli was alive
and Māyāvi was the one who was killed. Angada is suggesting that Sugreeva was intentionally
lying about Vāli to obtain his wife and kingdom.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.55.
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This note is given in Vālmiki Rāmāyana published by Gita Press, Gorakhpur, page 820.
Vachaspatyam, Shabda Kalpadruma give Kāmāndakiya 4.22 as the source of this verse.
More often, the word spoken of is . The original Sanskrit word is as indeed . The
meaning conveyed through in both cases is the same.
The words used are bala, buddhi, teja, sattva.
‘Hanu’ is a Sanskrit word which means ‘jaw’. Hanumāna is one who has a disfigured jaw. It
could also mean one with a prominent jaw.
Kishkindhā Kānda 4.66.
Sundara Kānda 5.1.152–5.1.168.
Sundara Kānda 5.1.184-198. The text mentions this episode in the form of a giant-sized
demoness Simhikā. The description of the event says that the demoness captured Hanumāna’s
shadow. The pull was so strong that he just couldn’t move. This appears to the author to be some
place akin to the much talked about Bermuda Triangle, an area with probably a very strong
magnetic field or something like a vortex in the sea that pulls into it everything in its vicinity.
Sundara Kānda 5.1.131.
Sundara Kānda 5.9.29–5.9.73.
Sundara Kānda 5.10.
Sundara Kānda 5.11.37–5.11.44.
Sundara Kānda 5.12.5–5.12.9, 5.13.1–5.13.48.
Sundara Kānda 5.12.10–5.12.11.
Sundara Kānda 5.13.49–5.13.51.
The ashta siddhis are mentioned in many Hindu scriptures including Shiva Purāna, Yoga
Vashishtha and Skanda Purāna, among others.
Sundara Kānda 5.41.5–5.41.9.
Sundara Kānda 5.46.8–5.46.13.
Sundara Kānda 5.42–5.48.
Sundara Kānda 5.49.14–5.49.18.
Sundara Kānda 5.50, 5.51.2–5.51.3.
Sundara Kānda 5.51.1–5.51.29.
Sundara Kānda 5.52.
The word used is which, in addition to tail, also means penis or male organ—.
Vachaspatyam gives both meanings of langula.
Sundara Kānda 5.53.
Sundara Kānda 5.52.
Sundara Kānda 5.53.34–5.53.35.
Sundara Kānda 5.53.26–5.53.31.
Sundara Kānda 5.53.38.
Sundara Kānda 5.53.16.
Sundara Kānda 5.64.42–5.64.43.
Yuddha Kānda 6.1.2–6.1.14.
Yuddha Kānda 6.125.12–6.125.18.
Sundara Kānda 5.1.201.
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THE TRAP OF LUST
Uttara Kānda 7.14–7.34.
Uttara Kānda 7.15.
Sundara Kānda 5.49.17–5.49.18.
Uttara Kānda 7.16.
The phrase used was ‘rāvitam bhayam āgatam’, meaning ‘screamed overcome with fear’.
Yuddha Kānda 6.6–6.7.
Yuddha Kānda 6.12.28–6.12.35.
Yuddha Kānda 6.13.10–6.13.15.
Uttara Kānda 7.24.1–7.24.20.
Yuddha Kānda 6.60.10.
Uttara Kānda 7.17.
Uttara Kānda 6.26–6.26.27.
Yuddha Kānda 6.9.
Yuddha Kānda 6.14.17–6.14.25.
Yuddha Kānda 6.15.1–6.15.5.
The word used is —kulapāsana; kula—community, pāsana—disgrace.
Yuddha Kānda 6.16.3–6.16.17.
This is a very famous and oft repeated shloka— :
:
Yuddha Kānda 6.16.19–6.16.26.
Yuddha Kānda 6.25.28–6.25.33.
Yuddha Kānda 6.26.1–6.26.4.
Yuddha Kānda 6.29.8–6.29.14, 6.29.20, 6.30.
Yuddha Kānda 6.34.20–6.34.23.
Yuddha Kānda 6.35.6–6.35.10.
Yuddha Kānda 6.59.26–6.59.31.
Charioteer.
Yuddha Kānda 6.59.
Yuddha Kānda 6.92.20, 6.92.64–6.92.65.
Yuddha Kānda 6.94.
Yuddha Kānda 6.100.
Yuddha Kānda 6.102.15–6.102.17.
Yuddha Kānda 6.103.28–6.103.31.
Yuddha Kānda 6.104.
Even today, this strota is recited in Hindu homes exactly as Rishi Agastya had taught Rāma. It
occurs in Yuddha Kānda Sarga 105. A strota is a hymn of praise, or a prayer.
Yuddha Kānda 6.105.
Yuddha Kānda 6.107.51–6.107.52.
Yuddha Kānda 6.107.
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Yuddha Kānda 6.108.
Yuddha Kānda 6.111.15–6.111.29.
Srimad Bhagavad Geetā 2.62–2.63.
THE DIFFICULTY OF BEING GOOD
How did Rāvana, Vibhishana and other rākshasas cross the ocean when Rāma and others
couldn’t? There is no clear-cut answer to this in the literature of the period. Today we can only
make guesses about it.
It seems that the rākshasa tribe either had the physical power or technology that allowed them to
cross the ocean, which the others didn’t. The technology development could have been
indigenous as Lankā was an island and the people would have felt the need to travel to other
places. We are told about Kuber having the Pushpak vimān, which shows that technology may
have preceded Rāvana’s rule in Lankā.
Yuddha Kānda 6.17.
Yuddha Kānda 6.18.
Yuddha Kānda 6.19.1–6.19.27.
Yuddha Kānda 6.25.13—6.25.14.
Yuddha Kānda 6.37.6–6.37.24.
Yuddha Kānda 6.46.30–6.46.44.
Yuddha Kānda 6.84.10–6.84.19.
Yuddha Kānda 6.89.1–6.89.7.
Yuddha Kānda 6.87.11–6.87.17.
Yuddha Kānda 6.87.18–6.87.27.
Yuddha Kānda 6.89.17–6.89.18.
Yuddha Kānda 6.88.49–6.88.50.
Yuddha Kānda 6.100.17–6.100.27.
Yuddha Kānda 6.109.22–6.109.25.
Uttara Kānda 7.10.30–7.10.34.
SOUMITRI
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.46.4–2.46.9.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.51.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.58.17–2.58.31.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.53.6-2.53.8.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.53.9–2.53.27.
Some commentators are of the opinion that Rāma’s lament was meant to test Lakshmana’s
resolve about continuing the vanvās. The last line does seem to indicate that. On the other hand,
Rāma has lamented more than once in varying degrees, especially after Seetā’s abduction.
Possibly, Rāma wanted to assess Lakshmana’s resolve, as he had done with Bharata also before
returning to Ayodhyā after completing vanvās. But his concern for his mother seems very
genuine too.
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Kishkindhā Kānda 4.1.120–4.1.122; the word used is ‘utsāha’. The word has a range of
meanings including zeal, perseverance, fortitude, firmness, enthusiasm, joy and happiness,
among others. In the context which Lakshmana uses it, perseverance seems more apt as he is
encouraging Rāma to not lose hope and continue to act.
This seems to be a reference to present-day Mārwār region in Rajasthan. Mārwār is called Māru
Pradesh.
Yuddha Kānda 6.21.13–6.21.35.
An implication stated here is that had Rāma abided by the truth, none of these miseries would
have befallen him.
Yuddha Kānda 6.83.14–6.83.44.
Flowers of Palāsh are red in colour. The bloodied bodies of Lakshmana and Indrajeet are given
the analogy of flowering Palāsh trees.
Uttara Kānda 1.28.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.40.9.
RĀMO VIGRAHAVĀN DHARMA
Here Dharma implies Yama. Yama is considered the deity of death and Dharma. He is
responsible for ensuring justice based on one’s karma, post death.
Bāla Kānda 1.1.17–1.1.18.
Bāla Kānda 1.78.
Yuddha Kānda 6.67.
Yuddha Kānda 6.79.
Yuddha Kānda 6.93.
Srimad Bhagavad Geetā 10.31.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.12.29— |
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It is a type of hell reserved for those who don’t have children per certain Puranas. In general, it is
to be understood as a worthy child who delivers his/her parents from falling into undesirable
conditions.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.1.
Ayodhyā Kānda 2.2.
RĀMA’S RĀJYA
Bāla Kānda 1.25.16–1.25.18.
Bāla Kānda 1.1.90–1.1.93. |
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Yuddha Kānda 6.128. |
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Ayodhyā Kānda 2.100.
